


All I wanna do is be like them (but I can't)

by TheLadyTeddy



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Honestly why are you reading this, Let Catra (She-Ra) Say Fuck, Lots of Magicat OC's, Magicat Catra (She-Ra), Magicats (She-Ra), Nomadic Magicats, Princess Catra (She-Ra), Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)'s A+ Parenting, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:08:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27865877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyTeddy/pseuds/TheLadyTeddy
Summary: Adora defected and someone has to take the blame for it. Catra finds herself tossed aside, and when she wakes up it's to a whole world that actually wants her. To a whole culture that is depending on her, a new family that actually loves her, and a crown that rightfully belongs to her.orWhen Adora defects Shadow Weaver makes sure to kill Catra, but she has nine lives sucker.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 107
Kudos: 531





	1. a hopeless end to hopeless means

The metal door slammed open; the chamber was dark, only the crackle of electricity from the Black Garnet casting any sort of light into the place. The witch glided across the room, shooting off electricity in every direction, only faintly realizing it was shocking the unbearable little creature that was pressed up against the wall. The woman sneered at the filthy thing, dusted in a layer of grime and blood that puddled underneath her. The girl stared at her, her oddly colored eyes gleaming, teeth flashed and grinding as the static from her shock made her fur poof up, the scent of burning hair wafted around the space. 

Shadow Weaver could still see hope in her eyes, and that was unacceptable.

"Adora will not be returning. She has deserted you." The dark energy wave fouled the room; it cast away whatever light that still existed from the dimming lanterns. Catra curled against the wall, her tail broken and curled against her chest, hands covering the back of her neck as she curled into a tighter ball. The shadows curled around her, cold and tugging at her limbs to spread her open. The girl shrieked, striking back out with her feet and claws; the shadow monsters tangled her back up, dragging her from the corner to the witch's feet. 

Shadow Weaver hovered above her, hand clenching as she stepped down, pressing the heel of her boot against Catra's sternum, the creak of her broken ribs, and the teenagers squeaking whimpers.

"You sh-should have let me go get her." Catra gasped out, her hand pushing at Shadow Weaver’s ankle weakly. The woman glared down at her, pressing down harder until Catra let out a high pitched whine before lashing out with her foot, the heel catching under Catra's jaw, another crack resounding into the room. Catra curled around herself, coughing blood at her jaw worked, obviously cracked judging by the swelling.

Adora had left. She hadn't come back, and like their entire lives, Catra was going to pay for it.

"You filthy creature, did you really think Adora was going to come back for you. She left because of you. Why would she leave the Horde, her home, if you hadn't pushed to leave to the outside? Allowing her to be tempted by life away from you. Why else would she not come back or ask you to come with her? You were only a passing fancy." Shadow Weaver prowled around Catra, who still curled around herself, her tail twitching despite its break. 

"Adora wouldn't leave me!" Catra hissed her nails, cutting into the metal blood dripping from her broken mouth. "She's going to come back for me--"

"Force Captain Lonnie, enter," Shadow Weaver didn’t turn as the door creaked open, and Lonnie tiptoed in, fists clenched, her eyes never straying to where Catra laid on the ground. She made an awful sight and smell; the electricity had burned her four, leaving hairless streaks on her typically reddish-orange fur, blood coming from her mouth and dried around her nose. Every movement she made was accomplished with little more than adrenaline to fight back the various broken bones Shadow Weaver had given her. Catra was her usual scapegoat for the squadron, a title that ought to have been Kyle's. The whipping child of every squad was the weakest, the smallest, the youngest, and usually the one they were all the most attached to. The squadrons made fewer mistakes, improved their ranking, and kept in line so their squadmate would be spared the pain of an entire squad’s punishment. Kyle was by all accounts supposed to be theirs, not Catra. But even now, compared to all the previous penalties that Lonnie was aware of because even she knew that Catra was punished for every minor infraction by all the officers, this one was bad. 

"Report Force Captain." A tendril of shadow curled around Catra's throat, tightening as the magicat raised her claws to scramble. "Or should I just put her down and spare her the pain of her darling Adora leaving her."

"No, I..." Lonnie looked at Catra, with her wild two-toned eyes and beaten figure. "I went to Thaymore and found Adora; she defected for the Rebellion. She congratulated me on my promotion and asked me if I knew the Horde was evil. I told her that, of course, we weren't, that the Rebellions waa brainwashing her. She needed to come back, or Catra was going to get punished for her defection." Lonnie took a steadying breath. "Adora said that she couldn't go back to a place so evil and wrong. She asked me to defect with her."

"Did she ask you to get the rest of your squad? Did she ask about Catra?" The shadow shook the magicat, sparks of electricity dancing over her shoulders while the teenager gritted her teeth, flinching painfully. "Did she ask about her little pet?"

Lonnie looked down at Catra, her small blood-soaked and singed figure, and shook her head. 

"Yes. Adora asked if Catra was at Thaymore with the rest of us," Lonnie stared at the floor, hands twisting with each other, listening with bated breath, “I told her she was with you. Adora said that if we weren’t going to defect, then she didn’t want us. Adora told me to go.”

Catra crumpled. Adora knew she knew she would get punished for defecting, and she didn't care. Adora knew that Catra couldn’t just defect without a plan, that Lonnie wouldn’t dream of it. Adora knew that Catra wasn’t at Thaymore, and therefore still under Shadow Weaver’s thumb. Catra felt the shadows slither away from her as she sunk onto the metal, boneless and weak. She didn't want her. Adora never wanted her. The magicat heard a coo as the shadows cradled her softly; she didn’t even squirm as they pulled her into Shadow Weaver’s space.

"Adora never wanted a little mongrel like you. I'll bring her back, and make sure that she stays, and you will not get in the way again." Catra's prone body hit the ground, and Lonnie rushed to her side, quick to pull her over her shoulder. "Take the filthy little thing back to your bunks. She won't be on your squad for very long, so say your goodbyes while you can." Both teens stumble from the room, Catra deadweight as Lonnie lugged her back to the dorm before dropping her onto Adora's bunk. 

They were silent for a long time, Lonnie scrubbing at the bloodstains from Catra's shirt off her skin.

"The punishment for desertion is death."

Lonnie stiffened. Catra was sitting up, curling a blue blanket around herself.

"Not even whipping cadets get death sentences for desertion."

"I will." Catra's head dropped to her knees, voice muffled and young, "She is going to make sure of that. One way or another. Official or an accident." Her tail flicked, half-hearted and slow; her eyes peeked over the tops of her knees, glowing in the dimly lit room like two dying embers. "You know she will."

"I know." 

Lonnie sat for a long time staring at Catra, her glazed-over eyes, and broken limbs, the blood that was already staining the blanket. Her head lolled to the side; there was a band of bare boiled over skin, likely from an electric collar. She was fighting sleep, fighting to stay awake a little longer, to what end Lonnie didn't know. 

"We need to get you out of here. You need to run." It was a last-ditch effort, maybe a bit of a desperate plea.

"Where would I run? To Adora, she knows what is going to happen to me, and she doesn't care. What does it matter? Shadow Weaver would hunt me down anyway. There is no promotion for me, Adora isn't coming, no officer will put their neck on the line for me. It's over, Lonnie; you cannot protect me when you guys still have Kyle to worry about. I wouldn't ask you to." Lonnie cringed; she wasn't going to say it; with Catra gone, Kyle was next in line for a Horde culling, her energy needed to be spent on her squadron, not a dead kitty walking. 

"You need to go, Catra."

The magicat smiled; one of her fang tips were broken. 

"If you see Adora again, tell her to thank you."

"For what," the force captain spat, the teenager stood and began to pace, "for deserting you, deserting us. We are supposed to be her squad, her family. She left us, and you, she didn't even both to try and take us with her." Catra's eyes followed her like dual-colored metronomes. "What in the world are you thanking her for! She just about signed your death sentence. She is the one pulling the fucking switch." And there wasn't a damn thing Lonnie could do about it unless she wanted to be wired up next to Catra. 

They both knew that wasn't an option. Catra wouldn't ask, and Lonnie wouldn't volunteer. 

"For trying," the catgirl turned over onto her side, curling into the pillow, "it was never going to end the way we wanted. But she tried. Tell her to thank you." Then without much else to say, Catra fell asleep.

When Lonnie woke up the next morning Catra, and the blue blanket was gone, and all that remained was a clawed childish drawing of the pair.

She roused herself for drills and Force Captain orientation, strutting down the hallway and trying to avoid the signs that said "Execution Viewing at 0700" and the gleeful way superior officers were pushing their young cadets to see the show. She watched the lights flicker during the start of orientation and put her head back down as gossip rang through the orientation room. 

She tried not to think about whether they let Catra keep the blue blanket in the room, tried not to think about the wires pinned to her head and chest, tried not to think about the thick rubber bands and Catra's feet in a freezing bucket of water that she hated. She tried not to think about what she might've said, if Catra smirked and toyed with the executioner, or if she laid limp like a doll. She tried not to think about where they would take her remains if her headgear is being passed to some other young cadet if there is another small junior cadet pairing holding hands under a table and whispering promises that one of them will keep. Lonnie tries not to think about how badly Adora failed and how Catra, despite Adora's failure, was still so irrevocably and profoundly in love with her.

***  
Salineas; One Month Later

Adora met Lonnie's baton strike with the sword, pressing her advantage as the sea battle raged around them. Her eyes flickered to try and find a lazy orange figure readying to pounce. She could only see Kyle fumbling with a blaster.

"Pay attention here, Blondie," Lonnie swung for her head, catching at the metallic of the tiara; it screeched like Catra's claws on metal. "Getting a little slow there, huh, super soldier? Princess life making you a little lazy." Lonnie swung around her hit, smacking the baton against She-Ra's calf, trying to knock her off balance.

"Shut up, Lonnie, get out of here before I wreck your little ship." Adora swung again, the flat, dull side smacking Lonnie in the side, sending her spinning across the deck. "Tell me what her plan is, you may be a Force Captain, but your strategy marks are shit compared to Catra's; what are you two up to." Adora looked around the ship, hoping to spot booby traps or another vessel on the horizon, even a little dingy filled with explosives to wreck the Sea Gate. At the same time, Rebellion forces are divided and distracted, Glimmer was facing off with a large white-haired woman while Bow was doing his best to wreck the weapon that Rogelio was trying to fire off. All things considered, Aodra should not be happy to find the Horde here, but seeing her squad only put a little hope into her heart. Catra might be here; she could invite Catra to join with her; she shouldn't have left without her in the first place. Adora needed to see Catra, in all her slinking smirky glory and take her back to Bright Moon, the Rebellion needed a strategist badly, and Catra deserved to get out of the Horde's clutches. She deserved to be as far away from Shadow Weaver as possible, to get to eat real food and sleep on a legitimate bed. Lonnie and the rest wouldn't leave, not without each other, but Catra had nothing holding her to the Horde without the promotion. Catra could come home with her, where she'd be safe, and Adora could keep the promise she'd been breaking for the last month. "Tell me where she is, Lonnie. Where is she hiding."

Lonnie let out a screech; it was all the rage, all the fury, all the pain as she pounced for Adora, the baton no longer set to stun as Adora neatly parried her strike.

"Don't talk about her."

Adora knew Lonnie was never fond of Catra. The magicat with her lazy genius out tested Lonnie even when she studied, outpaced her in every exam and fight; Catra’s only equal was Adora herself. Lonnie never came close, and that rivalry brewed into jealousy, Catra's frivolity towards authority and regulation a thorn in Lonnie's side. Catra not being Force Captain in Adora's absence was maddeningly odd. Still, her many Horde infractions might've prevented the promotion. But it shouldn't have mattered; Catra was still a rising star in the Horde's fast-tracked Strategy program, something even grudgingly Shadow Weaver admitted was impressive. There was no reason that any of this plan would be Lonnie's if Catra were right there in the wings. No reason Lonnie would be at the helm of this fight when Catra was by and far the best cadet besides Adora in their whole division. 

"Catra isn't up to anything," Adora flinched at the baton that swung at her head, aiming to take it off, "she won't be in your hair anymore, or anyone else's for that matter."

"What does that mean!" Adora ducked another vicious swing.

"Did you think your defection wasn't going to affect us? Affect her? Did you think Shadow Weaver was going to let Catra slide on a punishment? Are you so. Fucking. Naive." Each word was punctured with another swing. It threw She-Ra off her balance, far too top-heavy with armor to properly weave and dodge such quick, violent bursts. "Catra is gone, Adora; she is never coming back." Adora hit the deck on her back; Lonnie hovered above her as She-Ra's figure flickered in and out. Lonnie knelt, holding the stun baton to Adora's neck. "The sentence for desertion is death, and someone had to serve it, and Catra has always been our squad's scapegoat."

Adora screamed, She-Ra flickering out of existence as she grabbed Lonnie back the shirt and flung her down the deck. "You are lying." Lonnie skidded, popping her shoulder back into place. She hovered over Lonnie, chest heaving as the Glimmer shouted for Adora to turn back into She-Ra.

"Shadow Weaver took Catra herself."

"Shut up."

"Rogelio heard Shadow Weaver take her from your bunk."

"Lonnie shut up, I swear--"

"She took your dumb blue blanket. The 299th Squadron Captain saw them take her to electric rooms. They had an execution viewing at 0700 the day after Thaymore." Adora held Lonnie to the wall, shoulders shaking, fists tightened as she rammed Lonnie back into the deck of the ship. But she continued, frantic, even panicked. "It probably wasn't even quick; Catra had such a high electrocution tolerance. The lights went off three times. I heard them cheering--" Adora could only see red.

The ship was split into two, Force Captain Scorpia sounding the retreat, Lonnie's jaw was broken. Adora glared from the rocky outcropping, Lonnie's voice ringing like a bell in her ear. The Force Captain watched from a dingy while Rogelio glared up at Adora while Kyle shivered behind him, soaking wet from the impromptu saltwater bath.

_"Catra told me that if I ever saw you again to tell you thank you. Thank you for trying, Adora, but we both knew it wouldn’t turn out the way we wanted. She died, and she told me to tell you to thank you."_

"Adora?" Glimmer tugged on her arm, "Are you... Okay? You seemed so angry." Even now, her nails were opening her palm, thick droplets of blood falling onto the rock. Catra used to hold her hand, clenching her jaw as Adora sprained her fingers or left welled up scratches in her wake, back when Adora's head got too loud when she used to play with Catra's tail at mealtimes. Catra didn't say a word, letting her hand lie limp in Adora's palm, or drop her tail across her lap. Catra would roll her eyes and say something like, "Done freaking out now, dumbass?" before pushing her into the wall and racing away, Adora on her heels, always reaching out at her back.

"Yeah, that wasn't like you at all." Bow shuffled closer to out a hand on her shoulder. The blonde shrugged him off and tugged her wrist from Glimmer’s grasp.

Adora stared out into the sunset, the orange gleaming over the horizon, the sunbeams were warm, bright, and the sky was fading from blue to yellow. The world slowed, dulling in her ears, her lungs stopped working. Catra was gone, and it wasn't right. If Catra were gone, then Adora would feel her leave, right? Adora would know if her best friend was murdered while she was off galivanting with the Rebellion. Adora didn't realize she had dropped onto the rock, the knees of her pants ripping under tiny rocks as she curled into herself, her arms wrapping around her shoulders like Catra's tail used to. There was no gentle motor humming of Catra's chest shivers, no flicker of her ears against her cheek, no tangle of claws in her jacket. Just Adora's arms were holding herself, trying not to shake apart under the weight of her guilt.

"She's gone. I didn't save her. I promised I'd look after her." Adora looked up at Glimmer and Bow's faces, painted with concern and shock. "Catra's is dead, and it’s my fault. I wasn't there. I didn't take her with me." Adora stared out at the ocean, every tiny scar from Catra's claws when they were children burning like a brand. The familiar warm weight of Catra on her legs at night, her vibrations, her forehead pokes, her squeaky giggles and antics. 

Gone.

Adora sobbed and watched the Horde disappear into the fading light. 

***  
Crimson Waste; One Month Ago

"Another Horde waste drop." The thin teenager sighed as she pulled on some metallic knee pads from the cargo hold. The sand racer carried all the essentials, especially needed for Horde scavenging if they ran across a dumping site. Scouring Horde castoffs was good money and made for good trade when they dumped excellent power sources and weapons. It helped that most people thought going through this stuff was cursed, bound to bring bad luck; it meant the pickings were all theirs for the taking.

"Search it. Maybe they left some good weapons in there." The older man was gruff as he shooed her towards the mountain of junk; the foul smell of rotting food or whatever passed for food in the Fright Zone itched his sensitive nose.

"Already on it, Chief." The woman scrambled up the heap, her tail flicking for balance as she began to pick through the garbage with the tips of her claws, flicking useful items down the mountain trash heap. Some gadgetry to sell to Dryl, a lot of metal scrap they could melt for armor, wiring, all the standard stuff. Her claws nicked something, something warm it was... fur? The magicat reeled back, hand twitching.

"Chief, they tossed another body." She sighed as she rubbed the pads of her fingers against a rather knobby spine. They starved them before they killed them, the fucking scum. They were young; she’d seen that before too. They’d seen children as young as seven tossed into trash heaps, no doubt useless cogs for their army. 

"Thos fucking bastards..." The bulky man growled, his great orange and black striped pelt fluffing up. "Take them out gently Nii'kola, they may be scum, but they deserve a proper burial at least." Nii'kola nodded as she began to pull the debris away until a limp tail thumped onto a radiator, and she recoiled; it was broken in several places, singed, and matted. Frantically she began to throw garbage down the pile until she uncovered a familiar face, a bloodied broken jaw, limo ears, and brown stripes on her bare fur.

"Chief... It's a magicat!" Nii'kola moved over her, hauling her body out; she was stripped of all her clothes naked and covered in electricity scars, a skinny thing with all her ribs showing, fur so matted and dull it made Nii"kola's chest swell with fear. The teenager pulled her closer, rumbling a purr in distress as she felt how cold the girl was, her head lolling, revealing lightning scars that danced around her throat and down her chest. Like she’d been struck repeatedly by lightning.

"What!" The hulking man scrambled up the heap to find the broken little kitten curled into herself. She was tiny, far smaller than any of his grandchildren but judging by her claws and tail length; she had to be nearing her 18th or 19th year, 20th if she was on the small side. But she hardly looked older than 15, and a young one at that. "By Saz..." The kitten barely twitched when Chief picked her up, cradling her against his barrel chest, but as Nii'kola watched, she could see the tiny breaths ruffling the fur around the Cheif’s neck. The Chief's eyes widened before grinning at her. Nii'kola smiled back, wiping tears away at the little miracle.

"We've got a fighter here. Go get the caravan and set a course for Halfmoon; the Queen will be overjoyed." Nii'kola hauled ass down the garbage as the Chief followed slowly. "Don't you worry, kitten," he rumbled a low purr, "we are going to get you home."

The only answer he got was a weak trilling, and his eyes widened when two heterochromatic eyes blinked up at her, one gold the other blue. Her tailed twitched, her claws flexed, and she attempted to swipe at him, but it was weak and tangling up in his beads and ornamentation on his chest. The girl lolled in his arms, weakly coughing and wiggling, her tail twitched, but it was broken and barely stirred against his hip. She rolled in his arms, reaching for something out of reach; it was a scrap of blue cloth, singing and burned. “You want that,” the girl growled, still trying to grab it, to get away from him. He leaned down to pull it free front the debris; it was scented like the magicat, it smelled of blood, rank with fear and confusion. “Here,” he tucked it against her chest, her claws gripping it tightly, her limbs splaying trying to be free. "You're safe little one." The girl closed her eyes again, letting out the weakest of growls and trying to strike again for his throat, claws bared and jaw set. “We found you, and we aren’t losing you again.” The sound of purring was the last thing Catra heard before she finally passed out, exhausted and nose buried into the blanket.

If this was the afterlife, it was a damned weird one.


	2. you’re just as lost as yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra takes a bath and is getting adopted & the Queen gets angsty & local doctor terrorized by cat. Not in that order.

Death was warm. It felt like the nursery when she would cuddle next to Adora, Rogelio buried in the fur of her belly, Kyle splayed to her left, and Lonnie on Adora's right. It felt like those few moments of warmth before lessons when the nursery officers would run their fingers through their hair, the baby squadron puppy piled in their beds. It was warm like the Fright Zone roof, curled against a radiator while Adora practiced with her staff. Warm like the hot water they got during the winter with breakfast, steam frizzing her hair even as she tucked her cheek against the burning metal. 

Catra hummed as she opened her eyes; the room she was laid in was dark and smelled like the good dirt she found in the far corners of the scrap yard. The blanket she was under was tucked under her limbs, wrapping her; she wiggled and felt her bones creak. The tiny cry she made prompted the door to her left to slam open, and Catra could only stare.

The last time she'd seen someone like her, she was 7; they were facing off in a pit, the nursery officers staring them down as they circled claws out. The last time she'd seen another cat person, they mistimed their jump, their blood soaking Catra's hand as it buried into their belly. The last time she'd seen another one like her, they were sobbing for mercy, for another chance as their tail was dragging them from the ring, a line of blood marking their passage. Catra stood victor while the nursery officers cooed and patted her hair, her hand soaked in blood and the screams of her opponent dimming as they went were no one returned from.

Catra hadn't seen anyone like her for years, certainly not someone older than her. 

They were much bigger than herself, all white with splotchy black spots; they rushed over, obviously a man judging by his chest where a few necklaces swung and thumped in time with his frantic steps. Eyes blue, brighter than even Adora's, and fangs the length of Catra's pinky. He was smiling even as Catra struggled to escape her cocoon.

"Stop that," his hand pushed her shoulder down, which she promptly attempted to bite, "mouthy little kitten aren't ya? C'mon relax, I put a lot of healing spells on you, and I don't wanna see 'em undone cause someone is acting all panicked."

"Fuck you," Catra spat, finally splaying her hand, the claws shredding the heavy comforter. She managed to claw at the man, who dodged backward even as Catra pulled herself onto her legs, her tail twitched as she put her back to the corner. 

Behind the cat person was a door, beside him a study looking table, none of the walls had any windows or peephole. The only way in was out. Catra flicked her tail, her claw kneading into the bed, far too soft to get proper springing traction. The man growled, "Don't you dare."

She rolled her shoulders, leaning back on her legs. There was a faint crack of her stretching out her neck.

"I swear to Saz kit, don't you fucking try."

She smirked at him, baring her fanged grin. The man let out a groan dropping into a heavy horse stance; Catra tracked the movement; this was not a warrior. He was leaning too far back to get any kind of proper stability. 

His eyes widened, "GODDAMNIT--" as she pounces for his chest, and just as she expected, he pushed his arms out, just the right amount of force to give her powerful but still aching legs a boost. She jumped to his right, her foot using the corner of the table to jump and knock it into his calf. He went down with a screech as the table knocked into his hip, and he splayed on his back. She cackled with laughter as she grabbed the doorjamb, slinging herself out of the room into a long broad hallway. "Next time, balance yourself!" she called back to him, without pausing for a second, and she took off on all fours. Several doors passed as people, other cat people, medical personal, shrieked as she careened around the corner into what looked like a large lounge. There were benches pushed against the wall, plush couches, and open windows. The crowd in the entrance was shrinking against the wall. Catra must've made for a sight, half-naked and still covered in a dusting of blood and debris; she stunk to high heaven and wondered why no one had bothered to bathe her when they dragged her here. There was a vast glass door at the far end, she could hear yelling for her to stop, but she threw herself through the doorway, rolling into a crouch before stopping mouth dropping.

"Woah."

The building was in a vast cavern; she tilted her head up at the 'sky' where a massive red gemstone circled. The gemstone was a scarlet round oval, circling slowly the whole ceiling, it ... sang? Catra blinked as she listened to the whispered words she didn't quite understand. Her eyes dragged over the huge spires of red and white rock jutted towards it, she could see a few metal ships flying high above her head, it was warm. From all the spires and buildings long heavy vines slung like a massive roadway where cat people were running and walking along. Catra could hear shouting coming from behind her, shaking herself of her awe she took off at a sprint; the ground was paved beneath her feet, red rock cut into zig-zag patterns, and passing by large rock formations that had entrances carved into them, people were yelling after her now. More than a few reached to grab her hand but she evaded their touch. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she could see there were guards, dressed in loose black pants and scarlet tunics with a white emblazoned flame on the shoulders, burnished bronze pauldrons, swords, and staffs. They moved to the rock buildings, finding footholds while others began to take the vine highway.

"Catch me if you can, assholes," she flipped them a rude gesture as she ran for the side of a building copying their movements, her bare feet catching in small handholds as she flipped over a crowd and landing in the dust, her feet smacked the pavement as she used the low hanging vines and smaller rock formations to aide and assist. It was no Fright Zone with its many loose wires, and open are pipes, but it was a good enough second. She dodged around a cart being dragged by a four-legged beast, and the man screamed at her about whatever round green food that spilled all over the ground. _' What the hell is a cabbage?'_ zooming around another corner, she ran headfirst into a guard who screeched for her to stop.

Her shit-eating grin was his answer as she sprung up, her feet using the back of his head to launch her into a vine that she gripped with her claws as she swung over the walkway. She turned another corner when she dropped, dodging a few kids who were gathering to watch the spectacle of her grand escape, turning on a dime she leaped up, grabbing a loose metal bar as the kids clapped and cheered and she turned again. There were a few guards waiting, and from behind her a few were running, she found herself facing a small barricade and pulled to a sharp stop, skidding across the red rock, losing her balance and hitting her knees with a pained gasp. She surely pulled something she shouldn't have just now. Catra was tired, her ribs ached, her legs were spasming. It made no sense; she could run for hours on a sprained knee, had fought with broken ribs and arms, done ropes courses using only her tail and feet. She shouldn't be tired now, but as her eyes were cast around, she knew that this was going to have to be her stand.

 _'Seven above, three in front, two flanking, one behind,'_ Catra flexed her hands; there was no obvious way out of this... City. The marketplace she dropped into was cleared out while the soldiers continued to march in. She could see civilians crouched behind stalls, the scent of small children pissing themselves invading her nose. The whole vine highway above her head was clearing out. _' I would need to kill half of them to give myself a chance to get out...'_ In her current state, there was no chance of that; she could take down maybe two or three of them, but not so many, not unless she was desperate to die. Twice may be pushing it. Or maybe this was all some insane afterlife. She crouched, claws cracking the roadway before her nose twitched, someone was breaking the ranks, and she knew his scent. Afterlife or not, Catra wasn't going down without a fight.

He was big, the biggest person Catra had probably ever seen. Clearing 7 feet easily, with a warrior's build, he was covered in beads and necklaces, dressed in dark green loose pants, feet bared, and a heavy curved sword at his hip. He was bright orange, brighter than Catra's fur, streaked with black lines covering his body, steady green eyes, and an even steadier step as he broke the soldier’s circle. Catra hissed as he stopped several feet away before dropping into a crouch, grinning at her with larger fangs than even the man in her room. Every inch of him spoke of power, and judging by how every guard in their position straightened, she knew he had their respect. 

"Hey, there kitten, nice to see you awake." Catra hissed, flexing her claws, sharpening them on the rock, "I wouldn't be too happy waking up after dying in a strange place either kit. But why don't you settle down before you collapse, hmm?" He dropped into a crossed legs position lazily, propping his head on a massive curled paw, "C'mon, no one is gonna hurt you."

"Then why are all of your attack drones coming after me." a few of the guards growled at the insult, she only grinned up at them, the one she used as a platform had caught up and was cradling the back of his head.

"Well, it’s their job; you got a rouge kid waking up in a scared panic, tearing through the city they are going to get involved. It's kinda their job."

"I'm not scared."

"Then why is your fur all fluffed up?" He teased, his voice was a deep rumble, like an old machine in the bowels of the Fright Zone, steady and confident, assuring.

Catra took a deep breath, trying to settle her racing heart. She glared at him and all the guards before seating herself, wrapping her tail around her legs. She wasn't going to make it out of here without being at full capacity, she may be one of the best cadets in the Horde, but even she knew when to quit. Well, used to be one of the best cadets.

"Where in the living fuck am I?" the teenager demanded, "How the fuck did you find me?"

"This is Halfmoon, the Great City of the Magicats." there was a rumble and some stamping feet, the guards obviously took pride in this fact.

"Magicat," Catra rolled the name off her tongue, "is that what I am?"

The man nodded, "One of the many stolen children from the Horde Invasion on Halfmoon lands, 16 years ago you were probably part of a nomadic caravan or another Halfmoon village when the Horde came, slaughtered thousands of your people, or they at least tried to. They stole away many of our children for their armies.” The man heaved a great sigh, “We have found several of you over the years, escaped or on the battlefield.”

Catra paused, gnawing on her lip, “I died.” She knew she did; Catra had sunk into the darkness after the third shock; she felt her heart stuttering in her chest and stopping, her lungs shriveling up, and when her mind finally went blank. It was warm, and then she woke back up. “You found me...” she placed his scent, like from a dream, his arms and a burning hot sun.

“You did, you’ve been asleep for a week, and one of your lives has been taken.”

“One of my lives?”

The man grinned at her, “The blessing of Saz has given the magicat’s nine lives; we may die nine times before returning to her embrace. You burned off one of them, and you would have died if Saz hadn’t guided us to where you were dumped. I’m sure that the Horde had no idea of our ability. It’s what makes us such fearless warriors.” he flexed his muscles while the guard around them. “Our enemy may meet their rival upon the field, kill them, and find they returned from the dead to face them again. It was considered quite frightening and very entertaining. I've done it thrice, to great results.”

Catra’s head spun; there was a whole bunch of her running around; she was taken from them. She let out the tiniest of whines. He had saved her, and she had nine lives, _“8 lives Shadow Weaver took care of the first one,”_ she reminded herself. There was a whole city if people like her, people who looked like her, sort of. “What ... what do I do now?” she whispered to herself. She was free of the Horde, free of the war. Even if this was death, she was free. The man scooted forward, his hand running over the top of her head, Catra’s ears pinned back as his claws raked gently over her scalp.

“Why kitten, first, you get a change of clothes, and when you meet the Queen.” Catra starred as he stood, dusting off the red rocks from his pants, and held his paw out, “Come on, your Doctor is going to yell at you about your attempting to ruin his spellwork.”

“Glad to know that medics don’t change no matter the side,” she waved off his hand as she jumped to her feet, either she was dead and this was a great start to the rest of eternity, or this was real and she had to make the most of it. If it was a dream, well she hoped that no-one woke her up, but it seemed unlikely, she'd only ever had nightmares as long as she could remember. Glancing down at herself dressed in a black breast band and loose shorts, “I think I would like clothes first,” then her stomach growled, “and maybe something to eat.”

The man grinned, leaning forward with a grin, “Do you like fish?”

Catra blinked blankly, “What’s a fish?”

The whole guard squadron blinked before they began to dig in their pockets for something as the man thumped his hand on her shoulder; she nearly toppled forward at the strength of it, “Oh kit, you have so much to learn, and I am so excited to show it all to you.”

“Why you?” Catra was tugged along the way rubbing at her aching shoulder from where the man smacked her.

“I found you; you’re part of my caravan now unless the Queen says otherwise. Now tell me, kid, what’s your name?”

“Catra,” she surrendered; the man grinned before laughing.

“That’s a stupid fucking name; I’m Chief Ah’killes of the Southern Waste’s Caravan, which makes you Catra of the Southern Waste’s Caravan until further notice,” he pulled her close under his arm. Catra couldn’t help purring as his chest rumbled; the warmth of his chest and familiarity of the fur woke an old memory in her head, the feeling of someone else tucking her close to their breast, the vibrations in her ear and the soft warmth. “Don’t worry, Catra, you can pick a new name if you want.” They began to walk down the pathway, the shake in her legs growing as the guards pressed things into her palms. They were watching her a little wary, but a few were giving her thumbs up as if they hadn't just chased her for a few miles. Her tail coiled around her calf, rubbing at her fur, this wasn't how things went. Catra was supposed to be punished for running from a medic. It's how it worked in the Horde.

Catra bristled, “My name isn’t dumb, my best friend named me!” the thought sunk deep into her stomach, until this moment, her earliest memory was Adora curling close to her, her tail fisted in her palm. _“I’m Ah-do-rah, an’ you’re Cat-rah,”_ the words had whistled through the gap in her front tooth as she hugged her close, while Catra, still unable to talk, mewled and snuggled into her neck. 

“Well, your little friend is a fucking idiot; you can keep it but expect everyone to laugh at you.”

“Oh yeah, what kinda name is Ah’killes anyway!”

“Why he is a legendary warrior of our people! I will tell you his story,” and Catra quieted as his voice boomed through the street, her tail flicking even as she kept her eyes peeled, noting the guards, the people, and the highways above her. She tuned into Ah’killes’ story only as he began to explain that Ah’killes the Warrior was invulnerable to injury and death.

***  
Halfmoon Castle; present.

“The girl is an apt warrior,” the Captain remarked from her perch on the windowsill; her claws were carefully peeling a pomegranate, flicking stray seeds into a bucket by her feet. “She escaped Dr. Li’nus just moments after waking; she evaded the guards for a third of the city before Chief Ah’killes cornered and calmed her down.” The woman took a bite of the fruit, rubbing the staining juice across her fur, happy that she was black as the Ancient Tunnels that traced far below Halfmoon. The Queen sat on the steps of the throne, lounging as her russet tail flicked back and forth in agitation. 

“I never expected to find one of our children after more than 16 years, the last one we got was almost a decade ago, and he said there was only one left he knew of.” The Queen picked up her own fruit, picking at it listlessly before tossing it at the Captain who caught it without looking up.

“Perhaps this is the one he knew of?” Cy'rus was by and far the Captain's favorite of the Prince's guards, a little rough around the edges, but when you lose your first life at 7 then things would no doubt change for you.

“Perhaps, but the Horde Army is huge; who knows how many of our kittens still reside in their clutches. How many like Cy’rus and this girl...” she snapped her fingers.

“Catra.”

The Queen blinked, “That’s a stupid fucking name.”

“I know.”

The Queen sighed, rubbing at the dip between her brow, “I should be overjoyed, but am I selfish for hoping that it’s my kitten that has returned and not anyone else’s.”

“My Queen, I think our people would be overjoyed if the Crown Princess was returned; I hardly think it is selfish hoping that it was your kitten that was found.” The Captain slouched as she dropped beside the Queen, rubbing their shoulders together before head butting against her forehead. “You've lost so much, little Leo’nita, and of course your sister. Then King lost his final life to save so many of the kits in his madness to find her.” the Captain ran a warm hand down the Queen’s back, fiddling with the ties to her armor, tightening it up here and there with the tips of her claws. “Hoping that Leo’nita had come back after losing so many no one would blame you for such weakness. But you must rejoice, Leo’nita might be gone, but her brother still lives, and now this child still lives and has come home. Saz always has a plan for our people, and I am sure Leo’nita will return to us.” The panther's claws dragged over the Queen's back, stopping just short of her tail before trailing back up.

The Queen let out a long shaky breath, steadying the shudder between her ribs, “Thank you, He’cate.” her best friend ruffled the edges of her loose mane.

“Of course, Art’ymis.”

The Queen rolled her shoulders back, running her hand over the bronze circlet that rounded around her forehead. “Chief Ah’killes is bringing her to the castle once Doctor Li’nus releases her from the infirmary; he has already claimed her for his caravan.”

“From what I’ve heard, she looks like one of theirs; they didn’t lose any of their numbers during the Horde Raids, though, which is odd.”

“Well, others from their caravan marry outside of them; they may be the most nomadic of their people. Chief Ah'killes’ caravan often comes and mates within Halfmoon at our festivals; perhaps she is related somehow to his kind.” The Southern Waste's caravan was well known for their whoring, wild warrior ways, it's what made them such powerful warriors and why Cheif Ah'killes has such standing in Halfmoon. You couldn't throw a stone without hitting one of Chief Ah'killes offspring's offspring in Halfmoon, maybe this Catra was distantly related.

“God, another one of Chief Ah’killes whelp,” the Queen groaned, “and she’s an ex-Horde solider, she’ll fit in with that rumbling bunch of wanderers.” If Chief Ah’killes had his way, the entire Magicat army would be storming the Fright Zone daily, not that she could blame him. Her’kles was his nephew, and her husband’s loss always weighed heavy on the Chief who couldn’t make the battle in time to save him. The Chief so rarely saw her outside of festivals; it was almost a joke that he would be the one to find one of the lost kittens. “With any luck, she has a level head on her shoulder.” She wasn't sure if she could handle more of the Chief's progeny running around.

“She used the doctor as a spring pad and managed to evade our city guard, injured,” Art’ymis groaned and dropped her head onto her knees. “We’re doomed.” He’cate could only pat her head with a rumbling laugh.

***  
Halfmoon Infirmary; present

“I am not getting into that,” Catra yowled as Doctor Li’nus pulled on her arm, “you are trying to kill me.”

“It’s just water, Catra!” the Doctor tugged again while the Chief laughed from where he was turned around to face the door he was conveniently blocking. “You need a bath. Does your nose not work or something.” He was young, Catra had realized, probably only a few years above her. “Just get in the fucking tub, Catra.” The voice cracks betrayed him.

Catra smirked at him and very gingerly slipped a foot onto the side and then, with a practiced quickness of falling into holes during training, balanced her other foot on the opposite edge until she was splay-legged and grinning at the exhausted-looking man, “I’m in.” 

The Doctor stopped, glared, and then lunged and dunked her into the water; Catra screeched as he held her down and grabbed a glass container and dumped the liquid over her head, and rubbed down into her mane. “I am getting you clean even if it kills me,” he dodged another swipe, “stop fucking moving, you little brat,” he rubbed at her hair, laughing as she splashed water at him, soaking the front of his fur and pants. Catra could only cackle before flicking more water at him; the man growled, dunking her head under the water. “God, you’re worse than my brother,” Catra popped back up, sputtering and gagging as he continued to rub her mane down, the water was already darkening with red dirt, or maybe it was blood, and her hair was feeling lighter than it ever did. 

“What’s a brother?” It was probably another weird non-Horde word, like fish, though she had to admit those salty scaly skins were good even if it reminded her too much of when she used to teeth on Rogelio’s tail when they were kids. 

“The male version of your sister.”

Catra blinked at him, frowning. “What’s a sister.”

Li’nus grinned at her, “Why Catra, it’s the female version of your brother.”

Catra dragged him into the bath with her. Li'nus squeaked as she wrapped her hands around his neck, trying to choke the young Doctor that had been on her case since she walked back into the infirmary. The Chief sighed before turning back around, glaring at the pair, “Are you done mucking about, or are you clean now?” Catra growled before letting Li’nus backup, who was shuddering and shaking out his fur. “A brother and sister are siblings, they are the offspring of the same parents, or they are each other’s chosen sibling. I have many brothers and sisters in arms across the Magicats.”

Catra paused, the same offspring of parents, “Is a parent your... guardian?”

“Yes, they give birth to you, care for you, teach you to sharpen your claws and pounce for prey.”

Catra felt sick and ducked her head below the water, which meant Shadow Weaver was her parent, and she had never done a single thing like that for her, for Adora maybe, but not Catra. But she had siblings... right? Lonnie was also one of Shadow Weaver’s ward, and so was Kyle and Rogelio. Would that make them her siblings? Her brothers and sisters. Was Adora her sister? Catra quieted down as Li’nus finished cleaning her wounds and brushing out her hair; it was different than using her claws, the standard brush that always cracked under her hand when caught in the snarls of her hair. 

“We’ll have to cut this, you have a lot of frayed ends, and it’s not exactly stylish...” Li’nus measured the length with his claws, “we can get you a trim before you head to see the Queen; we’ve got some spare clothes for you already.”

Catra tugged on the locks, far softer than she’d ever felt them, “Maybe after?” she didn’t let any of the nervousness escape herself, “I wouldn’t want to keep the Queen waiting just for a little haircut.”

Li’nus hummed before stepping back and grabbing a large blanket, “Alright, come on out, kid. I’m giving you a stamp of health. You’re good for light exercise and training, maybe, but no getting into fights with any guards, and lots of rest and food until you’re up to full strength.” He continued on, listing things she couldn't do, some of which sounded fun like climbing the spires or driving a gravity craft. 

Catra tucked the towel around herself, ruffling through her fur and head headed into the small infirmary room. Li’nus and Ah’killes slipped from the room to give her privacy, which was stupid; she had just bathed while they were in the room. Ah’killes hadn’t left her side since their face-off at the plaza. He told her so many stories of the legendary warrior, and then Catra had to sit through a genuinely patronizing lecture from the Doctor she learned whose name was Li’nus. She couldn’t help teasing the man; he just left himself so open to being bullied. Catra pulled on the same kind of underthings as before, tightening the breast band until it held her still cracked rib tight and inched it, so it wasn’t bothering the wound on her back. The clothes were nothing like the Horde uniforms; it wasn’t that skin-tight material that would rub her fur until it scraped only at her sensitive skin underneath. It was made of a silky but oddly strong material. She ran her claws across the edge of the pants, and her claws did not catch, nor did it tear. A few choices laid out for her, the black pants or dark green not different from the color Chief Ah’killes wore. There were several shirts to pick from, loose long-sleeved in white or blue, a sleeves v-neck in a dark red, and a loose long tunic in black. She pulled the red one over her head, the v-neck dipping into the moderate swell of her chest, and with her arms free, she felt much more relaxed. She carefully tucked the shirt into her black pants, and there was a belt laid out next to the clothes, bronze metal with a single cat-eye burned into the center badging. Fastening it tight, Catra turned; her fur wasn’t being rubbed against the cloth. It was smooth and warm in a way her uniform never was. 

There was a heavy knock on the door, “Are you done preening kit, or are we going to get a move one?”

Catra took a long breath and opened the door; Chief Ah’killes and Li’nus were standing in the hallway, the form leaning against the wall picking at his fangs with his pinky claw while Li’nus was rubbing at his fur with a spare towel and had switched his pants out. 

“Yeah, let’s go,” the triad trooped down the hallway and out into the warmth of the cavern. 

“Hey, Chief?”

“Yes, Catra?”

She pointed to the rotating stone above her head, “What is that?”

“That is the Scarlet Opal, the source of the Magicat’s power, given to us by the Goddess Saz when she brought us to existence on Etheria a millennium ago.”

“Huh... is it supposed to be doing that?”

Li’nus quirked an eyebrow. “Doing what? Floating? Or glowing?”

Catra looked at him; he wasn’t deaf, was he? “Singing, your floating rock is singing.”

The pair starred her in horror, even as the Opal turned and the beautiful song of the rock twirled above their heads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I told myself that I'll do another chapter tomorrow after work not now when I have like a million things to do for finals. Well, I'm a lying liar, so here you go. Adora is not gonna show back up for a while, I want Catra all happy for a minute before I throw a sad blonde at her head for her to punt around emotionally. Just pretend that Adora is getting punted around by the Horde Trio led by Scorpia instead. Catra gets some breathing room after my evisceration of her for 3k words the previous chapter.


	3. on the edge of a somewhere paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra picks a fight & wins. Mother-daughter reunion. Catra doesn't know what words mean.

***  
Halfmoon Palace; The Throne Room

The throne room was vaulted; massive metal beams crisscrossed the ceiling where yellow lights in gold cages hung, casting a warm glow around the whole room. Balconies surrounded a raised bronze dais, and stained glass windows with various figures stared down at Catra from on high. There were a few magicats on the terraces, dozens of colors and markings, wearing beaded chains and necklaces like Ah'killes and whispering as Catra walked forward. The Queen herself lounged across the throne; she was painted a russet color with brindled white and grey markings around her paws, she was lean, and a sword hung from the arm of the throne, her jawline could probably shatter glass. The Guardsman stood at her feet, a naked weapon across her knees; she wore a polished gold chest plate and armbands. She was all black with stunning blue eyes that attempted to pin Catra where she stood.

Catra could already count four different ways she could get out of this room with just the clothes on her back. Eleven if she could take the guard’s weapon. The Chief slapped a heavy paw on her shoulder, startling her a bit before leaning down. She froze up a little, his claws rubbing against the ball of her shoulder in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture but instead only served to make her skin crawl. The magicats were far too touchy, and Catra, who had only ever allowed her squad to touch her, was gritting her teeth not immediately to snap a finger off or take out an eye. Horde Officers learned very early that Catra didn’t care if she caused bodily harm. If anything, some of the elder ones found her feisty demeanor endearing. Those officers were the worst when it came to punishments when whatever rose-tinted glasses they had about having a murder-machine were dashed when she couldn’t be broken down like a pet.

"Relax, kit, this is just formality. We’ll meet her after this in private." To what end, Catra wasn't sure, so what if she heard the dumb floating glowing rock sing? She just died. Her head was scrambled worse than Adora after she got into that cafeteria fistfight. She was just told that the Queen wanted to meet her and then she’d be free, but all because she heard the stupid glowing rock hum a little melody, it garnered a private audience with the Queen. Catra tried to steady her beating heart as Cheif Ah’killes stepped forward, dropping his knee and chest into a low bow, it was almost mocking, and she could see the Gaurdswoman smirking before it was wiped away.

"Queen Art'ymis of Half Moon, guardian of the Magicats, wielder of the Scarlot Opal, beloved daughter of Saz. I, Chief Ah'killes of the Southern Wastes Caravan, Commander of the Southern Legion and member of Halfmoon Grand Council, present my new ward, Catra of the Southern Waste Caravan, returned daughter of Saz and previous cadet of the Horde. I name myself her guardian and a member of my caravan. She shall speak for herself." Ah'killes' voice rang out, formal and deep, while the magicats above whispered. The Chief pushed Catra forward. She glared before walking to the edge of the stairs. Without even thinking about it, she took a step onto the stairs. There was a low rumble from the balconies. Catra twitched her ears.

A sword met her chest.

The teenager hadn’t even heard her move, and yet there she was, holding the sword steady like an extension of herself. Catra wondered faintly if she could get so fast herself; it certainly would be nice to cross a distance with that level of silence and finesse. 

“Not another step.” 

Catra brought her eyes up; the different colors often startled to people. The Guardswoman was the same, just the slightest downward tilt of the blade tip, and Catra took another step forward, the blade pressing into her chest. It was a dangerous game of chicken, the elder magicat startled at the challenge, her teeth bared even as Catra stood there, smiling while the sword held against her sternum. 

“Captain He’cate, let her pass.” the Queen waved a single paw; she was cut on lean lines, and Catra could see the callouses of a warrior dotting her palm and a few scars across her arms and backs of her hands. 

Catra stepped around the Captain with a smirk and approached the throne. Up close, the Queen was beautiful. Her mane was pinned back in many braids, a warm dark brown that curled around a pair of ears that had nicks and rips. The woman smiled and stood as she met Catra in the middle, looking her over.

“Welcome to Halfmoon child,” she raised her hand as if to stroke her face. There was an odd look in her eyes, a look that Catra had only seen a diminished version of in Shadow Weavers directed at Adora. “I am Queen Art’ymis.” Catra felt tiny; the woman was smiling, bright, and open; her gold eyes were glazed over with tears. “I am so happy that you are home now, kitten. You’re safe. The Horde will never take you from me, from us, ever again.” The woman raised her hand as if to stroke her cheek and stopped only a few inches. Catra flinched back, hard. Shadow Weaver used to do that to Adora before asking something impossible of her. Shadow Weaver did that when Catra was beaten down, crying while Shadow Weaver whispered things like _‘This is for your own good. For Adora’s good.’_ before raining hell. 

The Queen stopped. Catra could feel the warmth of her hand. It wasn’t cold like the witches. It didn’t stink of sweat and blood like Octavia’s. “May I touch you, child,” there was a hint of desperation in her voice as if Catra wasn’t real, was a walking ghost come back to haunt her halls lovingly. Well, it wasn’t far off. Catra nodded, despite how her tail tucked tight around the curve of her hip, ears pinned back. “You can tell me no.”

Catra opened her mouth. It was dry, an unknown feeling like a void in her chest. The Queen seemed familiar, like a distant dream. Closing her eyes tightly, Catra turned her face, tucking her cheek into the Queen’s palm. The elder magicat let out a tiny little gasp, her fingers flexing to rub at the curve of her cheek, her thumb swiping under her jaw. Her other paw came up to cradle Catra’s face. Catra felt her fingers running over the curling strands of her hair, tracing her sharpening cheekbone and the bow of her mouth as if trying to commit Catra to memory.

The young magicat wasn’t sure if she’d ever been touched so softly. 

The Queen pulled her forward. Catra’s eyes flew open before the Queen wrapped her into a tight hug, wrapping her up close, her tail flicking and wrapping around Catra’s wrist. “Welcome home, young one. Welcome home, Catra.”

Catra could only stand frozen, her scent, the feeling of her fur. Her chest was bubbling, ribcage expanding as she, still tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But she was just being held, claws raking through her mane and down her back, held close and warm while a rumble echoed around the chamber. Catra looked up. The balconies filled with magicat’s smiling, a few crying as they all rumbled a deep purr. Catra met a few of their eyes. They waved and smiled at her, obviously ecstatic by her, by Catra.

No one had ever been happy to see her, let alone happy enough to cry about it.

So Catra leaned into the Queen’s embrace and let her hands cradle the Queen’s elbows, and just closed her eyes. 

Was this was safety felt like?

If it was, Catra never wanted to leave.

***  
Halfmoon Palace; Queen’s Sitting Room

After the emotional meeting, Catra was whisked away to the Sitting Room, Ah’killes sat at a plush green couch, sifting through a variety of meat on a wooden platter, picking at it with the tips of his claws. Captain He’cate was seated at the windowsill, tapping her foot on the ground. Catra sat on the arm of a large chair, lounging with a leg kicking idly in the air.

The Queen hovered at Catra’s shoulder, tail flicking as they waited for someone. The prince? Catra couldn’t bring herself to ask what a prince was. Maybe it was the male version of a princess?

“He’cate, could you go find him for me, please. I think he needs to be present for this conversation.”

Ah’killes had opened the conversation with Catra being able to hear the Scarlet Opal’s singing, and it had startled the Captain so much that she immediately shouted for the guards to get the Prince. The Queen hadn’t stopped smiling since Catra left her embrace and was hovering around her shoulder like a little leech sucker from the poison rivers below the Fright Zone. 

The panther woman nodded, but just as she reached the door, it slammed open. Catra blinked. Forget Ah’killes. This was the largest magicat she’d ever seen. He was taller than Ah’killes by a whole half a head, a dark orange with grey stripes, thick shoulders, and neck; he looked like he could snap Catra in half and use her for a pair of socks. Unlike Ah’killes and the other men she’d seen, he wore a shirt, a flowing dark red thing that covered down to his thighs, along with white breeches that cut off at his calf and tucked into shoes. Catra blinked; he wore shoes. She hadn’t seen anyone do that either. However, the funniest thing was some metal and glass perched on the tip of his nose, and he fiddled with them. 

“Mom! What’s going on? I was working on a very temperamental spell cast and could’ve blown the whole east wing to bits.” He boomed, voice deep and growly.

“Maybe you shouldn’t work on temperamental spells in my palace,” she quipped back dryly. The man pouted, which looked silly on a fully grown massive magicat. Catra would barely reach his pecs if she stood beside him. 

“Well, if someone just let me have a far off house to practice my work, you wouldn’t be freaking out whenever I use a spell!”

“Then I’d never see my son and lose him to the arcane wonders of magic.” The Queen sounded so fond, and he strutted forward while a guard hovered at the door that snapped close. “I called you here for that very reason. Hek’tor, meet Catra. Catra, this is Hek’tor, Prince of Halfmoon, Master Magician.” Catra waved as he dipped into a low bow. He wore his mane shaved up to the top with odd patterns shaved and inked into the skin around his neck, curly black hair coiled up around his ears and flopping over his forehead and oddly boyish face. He moved quickly, but he shifted his weight unevenly, claws though sharp probably couldn’t do more than break her skin, while Catra could cut through metal on a whim. It was almost a waste that someone of his size wasn’t a fighter.  
Massive

Catra blinked, “Hey, I’m Catra, and if you use magic, they probably called you cause I can hear your weird floating rock sing.”

The man blinked before he was in front of her, his hands covering her arms. “You can hear the Scarlet Opal’s song,” Catra shoved him off; he stumbled back and into Ah’killes, who had seen the push coming, catching the young man under his pinwheeling arms. 

“Can’t you fucking ask before you grab me,” Catra rubbed at her arm. His touch barely left a dent in her fur pattern. “Yeah, I can hear the dumb things song. Can’t it shut up?” Ever since she noticed, the song grew only more constant and louder.

“The Scarlet Opal isn’t dumb! It’s a sacred gift from the Goddess Saz that allows us to use magic! It’s the magicat’s greatest possession, and you can hear it sing! Why can you hear it sing?” 

“Excellent fucking question. I didn’t even know you guys existed until this morning.”

Hek’tor blinked, “Yes, I suppose that would be startling. Well, the Scarlet Opal is the source of the Magicat’s magic. Any magicat with any talent for magic can draw upon it to power their spells along with their mana. The royal family is granted special powers by the Opal and can speak to us as our direct connection to the Goddess Saz.” He clapped his hands together bowing his head, “But there are others who can commune with the Opal. It’s rare, once in a whole generation. You must have quite the latent power to hear the Opal’s song.”

“I am not a witch,” Catra finally bit out, her fur on end and ears pinned back, her claws dragged along the nice chair. “I do not use magic. I will not use magic. Make the singing stop.” She was not Shadow Weaver, magic only lead to pain.

“I can’t? Why would you not want to use magic! It’s beautiful, and you can do whatever you want it with--”

“I will never use magic,” behind her Art’ymis and Ah’killes exchanged worried glances, “I am not a witch. I don’t want to learn magic. Magic is evil and dark, and it hurts people. Why would I ever want something as vile as that for talent.” Her voice rose in a panic, her tail whipping behind her. The Queen stepped forward, noting that the teenager’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, eyes dilating and breathing coming in fast and quick.

“Catra, Catra, listen to me,” the girl whipped her head around, eyes unfocused, throat tightening. “Come here,” she tucked the girl’s head against her chest and began to take in deep rhythmic breaths, “copy my pace, listen to it. You need to calm down.” Catra struggled, the Queen’s claws dragging over the edge of her ears, and though she wouldn’t admit it, the steady beat of her heart and the sound of her expanding lungs was calming. “We would never make you do something you don’t want. Magic is good. I don’t know what they have done to you. Who has hurt you. But you will never have to face it again, at least not alone. Your magic isn’t a danger to anyone without training, and if you hate it so much, then you won’t ever have to use it.”

Catra almost wanted to make the Queen promise, but not even Adora held up her bargain, so she just nodded and closed her eyes. The arm of the chair shredded beneath her claws, the prince Hek’tor looked sad, his eyes dropping low and tail dragging on the ground. 

“Sorry for scaring you Catra, I get a little excited about magic. I can teach you if you ever wanted to learn!”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

“Right, well, “ Ah’killes patted down his pants, “if that is everything, Art’ymis, I would like to take Catra back to the Caravan, introduce her to everyone.” The Queen tightened her grip on the back of Catra’s head, her jaw pulling as she glared at the Chief. “She is part of my clan. Unless you have objections, your Majesty.” Catra could feel the woman’s body tighten, obviously torn, but why? She was some nameless magicat, yeah, one of the few who returned to their people, but it didn’t mean that the Queen ought to feel at all entitled to her. The Queen released her with a nod.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I am just so thrilled that Catra has returned to us.” The Queen slipped Catra from her embrace, and the teenager felt empty, almost wishing she could return. The Queen smiled at her and booped her on the nose, Catra on pure instinct, swiped at her hand while the Queen’s trilling laugh echoed around her. “Catra, please, feel free to come up to the Palace anytime. Hek’tor could do well with some friends outside of the books, and I would like to see how you settle into our city.”

“I... ahh, yes, of course. I’ll come to visit.”

“How about dinner, Friday? I know Hek’tor would like more time with his Grand Uncle Ah’killes.”

“Uncle?”

“Hek’tors father was Ah’killes’ nephew.”

Catra blinked back dumbly. The Chief guffawed, slapping a great paw on his knees, “We are still working on what a brother and sisters are Art’ymis, don’t put her into another stupor with words she doesn’t know.”

The magicat bristled, “I know what words mean!”

“Then what does Uncle mean?”

She flattered before grinning, “It’s something you yell instead of mercy, and I’ve never said it.”

He’cate let out a snort, giggling around her hand before waving the room off, “Now I can believe that.” The tension in the room dissipated, thought Catra felt the Queen's eyes on her as Ah'killes signed some documents doing something called 'adopting' her, it was probably the same as a ward. She could already tell he would be miles different than Shadow Weaver.

When everything squared away all sorts of plans were in place. 

Hek’tor promised to visit as early as tomorrow afternoon to teach her about Magicat history and culture. He wanted to take her to something called a ‘library’, which he seemed far too happy about. He’cate invited her to use the training grounds if Catra got sick of roughhousing with the caravan and wanted to see some real warriors fight. It had been the Queen that cradled her cheek and pressed the lightest of kisses for her forehead and promised to see her soon. 

As Ah’killes yammered on about the Southern Waste’s inn, the city home for his caravan, Catra was still thinking of the Queen Art’ymis’ kiss, the feeling of her palm, and the press of her arms. The teenager didn’t want to leave, but as they walked towards a great house filled with laughter and people spilling out with mugs of a drink, she found herself distracted from the tired feeling in her stomach that something was off. That maybe she shouldn't have left the Palace, but as the warmth of the Southern Waste's Inn enveloped her it was forgotten.

***  
Southern Waste’s Caravan Inn; morning

The party had been overwhelming, with magicats thumping her back and hugging her, their rumbling purrs lulling as they sang and fought in a large empty hall with tables pushed up to the side, and chalk lines besides names as wrestling matches took place on marked out circles. There had been immense kegs of a drink that irked Catra’s sensitive nose, and doughy pockets of hot meat passed around on trays. Ah’killes showed her to a room. It was small, probably not even supposed to be a room; the ones she passed had multiple beds and scents, not dissimilar to bunks.

Catra had never really slept alone. She had slept in isolation chambers, of course, but there was the heartbeat of the guard outside even then. She curled at the foot of Adora’s bed, and when they were young pressed up against her chest. She’d ever slept with the other three on small practice missions or pressed up against them at breakfast, which she always slept through if she could help it. But this room didn’t smell like Adora. There was no stink of Lonnie’s sweat or even the familiar scent of the oil Rogelio used to clean his scales; even the usual stench of Kyle’s feet would have been welcome. 

Catra curled into the furthest corner of the bed, clutching a scrap of blue cloth that Ah’killes offered her with a quiet reverence. It was their blanket, it must have been fried when she was, and they tossed it with her since they probably couldn’t repurpose it. She fell asleep listening to the song of the Scarlet Opal and the celebration far below her. 

Catra awoke to rustling, the small window bright with the goldish-red light of the Opal, and as she stirred she realized someone was in her bunk. Sitting up she came face to face with a grey female magicat, there were tiny white bands of fur around her wrist and her eyes were unnaturally bright green. She wore a cropped brown shirt with sleeves that were sewn with small silver metal plates, her pants had metallic coverings on her knees and a single beaded necklace hung below her collarbone.

“Ahh... hi?” the girl’s voice was soft, almost whispering, “I brought you some water, and breakfast, oh and some tokens for the market. Ummm.. Ah’killes said I should hang out with you and I dunno like, help you make friends? Meet some of the caravan more formally, tour you around Halfmoon?” She sounded unsure, nervous even before she held her paw out, claws sharp and a thick ring of gold around her wrist. “I’m Nii’kola, Southern Waste’s Caravan trader and part time scavenger. I’m ahhh... well I’m the one that found you in the Horde’s dump pile. Nice to meet you, officially and like not dead?”

Catra blinked before coiling even more tightly. The girl’s hand wavered in the air before retreating. 

“Right, well... um here is some breakfast.” she gestured to the tray, “We’ve got some raccoon-hawk sausage, and some veggies that our cook made, I think they slipped you a cookie. Which is lucky! They usually horde those. Umm--"

"I don't need a babysitter Nii'kyla--"

"It's Nii'kola," she interrupts with a squeak.

"Yeah, okay Nii'kola. I don't need a babysitter I can get around on my own." Catra hopped out of the bed, the scrap of blue fabric stuck into her belt. Nii'kola frowned.

"You slept in your clothes," Catra frowned and looked down at herself, sniffing at the sleeves of her shirt. It didn't smell bad, it was a little wrinkled but so what?

"I didn't exactly have sleeping clothes."

Nii'kola frowned before heading over a small chest under the window and opened it, "The caravan got together and got you some clothes when Li'nus told us your size. You're a bit on the small side," Catra hissed, "but you're probably just underfed. So they might be a size too big, but it's for the better, tight clothes give us bald spots." Catra shuffled her feet self-consciously, the thin and worn down patches of fur on her shoulders, thighs and stomach were the source of teasing in the communal showers. Nii'kola took out an armful of folded clothes and dumped them on the bed. Catras head spun at the colors, red and dark oranges, blacks, greys, even blue and purple. Hee fingers ran over the fine fabric, "It's spun together using thin metallic threads and some kind of silk so our claws can't easily catch it and rip them. We have normal fabric but don't expect it to last very long," Nii'kola pointed to the chest again, "there are also shoes."

"Absolutely not. Who willingly throws their balance off like that?" 

The grey magicat grinned, "Exactly! Well you'd probably want them when we do any desert travel to not burn the pads of your feet or if you go to the snow. But normally who needs them." Nii'kola sat herself on the chest, still not quite understanding that Catra didn't need anyone here, she could wander the city of her own accord. 

Catra took the plate and settled crouching in the bed while Nii'kola looked out the window humming to herself, "You can go," the girl smiled waving before exiting the room and the teenager let out a long unsteady breath she didn't know she was holding. Yesterday was weird, her head was still fuzzy from straight up dying, and then getting adopted and hearing a glowing rock sing. Catra popped a sausage into her mouth, eyes going wide as she stuffed another one into her mouth, she thought the doughy meat pockets yesterday were amazing but this was better. Licking the tray clean, Catra picked through the clothes Nii'kola had dumped on her bed and settled for a pair of black pants that stopped just short of her ankles, another red v-neck tank top with little white zig zag patterns around the hem. Catra ran her fingers through her hair, finding that for one it was snarled up, it was noticeably softer. She wondered if she could put it up in braids like the Queen had them, but settled instead for letting her mane flop down her back.

When she stepped into the hallway Nii'kola was at the end talking with Li'nus who grinned and waved.

"Good morning Catra!" Oh great, he's like Adora, unbearable before midday meal, "Did you sleep well? You look so much better than yesterday, Nii'kola was telling me that she brought you breakfast which put all my plans outta wack. I was gonna take you on the foodie tour of the marketplace." He rambled on while Nii'kola hung back, shaking her head at his back. 

"Li'nus," her voice was sticky sweet and he nodded, "do me one little favor," she stepped forward while he smiled bright again, she pressed her palm into his chest, "shut the fuck up." Then knocked him into the wall.

He laughed as she stepped around him going down the stairs, "Oh someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

"I think she woke up on the wrong side of life," Nii'kola muttered which earned her a grin from Catra, the nervous one had jokes. 

Catra ignored the pair who continued to follow her into the bottom hall. Several magicat were sleeping at the ling tables now placed over the faded chalk circles, there were a few kids hanging from the rafters and tossing a ball around. Ah'killes was seated at a table, a tall white and black striped magicat next to him where she was wolfing down a whole plate of sausages. Like the men she was mostly bare chested except for a thick gold breast and cape thrown over one shoulder. 

“Catra! Come over here!” Ah’killes waved her over to the bench, scooting over to make room but Catra hopped up to sit on the edge of the table beside him. “I see Nii’kola and Li’nus have found you.”

“I don’t need babysitters Ah’killes, I can tour myself around Halfmoon,” there was a snort from next to her, the white striped magicat continued to stuff her face. “Something funny there Snowball.” The magicat glared at her and delicately wiped her mouth with the edge of a napkin. “Seriously Ah’killes, I don’t need anyone watching me or anything.”

“You really ought to talk to the Chief with more respect,” the white magicat stretched her arms back, “before someone decides to put you in your place.”

“Tha’lya--” the Chief began his reprimand. 

“Oh and you think you can take me,” Catra grinned, the blood in her veins pumping, she rolled her shoulder and took inventory of her body, her bones still ached from where Shadow Weaver had broken them, but that wasn't abnormal. Her feet hurt a little from yesterday's impromptu attempted escape and her head was still ringing, but her endless headaches and migraines had been constant since she was young. Adora and Lonnie were the ones with rocks for skulls. 

Snowball’s grin was wide and toothy, “Oh I know I can take you.” Li’nus was talking behind her, about how fighting was a bad idea, Catra was still healing up, Ah’killes was sighing and growling under his breath. Nii’kola was already making rounds around the room with an empty tray, the clink of tokens hitting the bottom as the magicats began to push tables out of the way in practiced maneuvers. 

“Let's go then, right here, right now.” Catra jumped off the table and into a low crouch.

“If you are so excited to get your ass kicked I will be happy to do you the honor.” 

“Now seriously are you going to pick a fight just cause she annoyed you, c’mon Tha’lya.” Li'nus fluttered behind them where they were facing off now, both had low growls humming in their chests.

“She wants her face kicked in, I’ll do it for her. Just 'cause she is new doesn’t mean she can’t talk to my grandfather with some amount of gratitude.”

Catra stopped in the cleared out area, knitting her brows together, “What’s a grandfather?”

“More family things we’ll explain later,” Li’nus called back to her with an air of despondency, the Chief wasn’t stopping the fight and the caravan was excited to get some entertainment with their morning meal. The caravan so rarely stopped fights of any kind, too happy to place bets or get in there swinging. Catra was going to fit in fine. 

“To first blood?” Tha’lya called out to her, shucking off her cape, she was stretching out muscles that would make Lonnie and Adora jealous then immediately go hit the weights. “Or when you beg me for mercy.”

“If that’s what passes for you to win,” Catra let her claws lengthen, four inches of steel cutting edges, and even Tha’lya eyed them with some trepidation.

“On my count,” Ah’killes boomed, “to first blood or first to ask for mercy. One.” Catra coiled up her shoulders, tightening her core, “Two.” Tha’lya dropped into a firm low stance, fists out, “Three.” Catra moved.

Tha’lya did exactly what she thought she would, going in close trying to overwhelm Catra with her bulk. But Catra, smooth as water slipped from her haymaker and slide between her feet, clipping the back of her ankle with her foot knocking the larger magicat off balance. She'd grown up being the one smallest in their regiment and _excelled_. No two-bit wanna be was going to knock this cat off her feet. Turning on her side she leapt onto Tha’lya’s back who reached up and tossed her before Catra could dig her claws into her bicep. The force of the throw and height would normally scare someone, but Catra tucked into a roll and landed feet first on the edge of a table and like a sling threw herself at Tha’lya who tried to catch her around her waist. Shifting her hips and waist at the last moment she wrapped herself like a boa around Tha’lya’s legs dragging her onto the ground. 

Tha’lya let out a roar as her head hit the ground and tried to wrestle Catra away but she was already digging her claws into the ball of Tha’lya’s shoulder, warm blood spilling over her palm.

Catra leaned forward, with a dark smirk, “I win,” she smeared the blood down Tha’lya’s arm and the other magicat in a haze of adrenaline, grabbed her wrist and pulled it back.

Someone lesser, or maybe less damaged would have shrieked. But Catra gritted her teeth as the bones in her left wrist snapped with a sharp crack. 

“Enough! Medic!” Ah'killes boomed out, startling Catra from her haze, her unbroken hand moving to disembowl the bigger magicat. Before she stopped it just in time, her hand clenching and shaking.

Li’nus rushed to separate the pair, Catra stood cradling her limp hand to her chest, taking deep even breaths as Tha’lya stood, chest heaving and eyes wide.

“I-- I’m...” Snowball reached for Catra, who flinched back, just noticeable to Li’nus and Snowball. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Catra gritted out, “you only snapped my wrist.”

“I didn’t think--”

“I’m fine, stop freaking out,” and she was, a broken wrist was hardly something to cry over. Catra must’ve broken every finger and bone in both her arms, she was slated as a speedster powerhouse, with a penchant for gymnastics. She’d fallen from impossible heights on both feet only to fracture her femurs and ankles, felt her wrist snap under her weight or sprain so many times it was a dull pain now. “Just wrap it up, it’ll be fine.”

Li’nus let out a strangled disturbed noise. “We have to set it in a cast, if you don’t it could heal crooked and hurt you.”

Catra blinked, “It always hurts.”

“Catra,” Li’nus gulped, “how many bones have you broken exactly?”

“All of them, except my neck. I think. Don’t quote me on that.” Catra thought about that for a long while, “I’ve only cracked my skull once, which honestly was more than enough for me.” The worst break was her hip, that nearly got her put down by Shadow Weaver if Adora hadn’t pleaded and insisted that it wasn’t as bad as they thought. I was just a fracture, they were all lucky Catra was so limber and stretched three times to keep her body from getting too tight. 

“I’ll need to run some diagnostics on you soon,” Li’nus dragged her over to a table, Tha’lya following a slower pace while Nii’kola was taking back tokens with an excited gleam in her eye. “It isn’t normal for you to be in constant pain.” Catra blinked, that was a new one for her. 

"Huh," was her intelligent response.

Tha'lya perched herself on the edge of the table, wiping at the blood that was staining her white fur pink, "Sorry for snapping your wrist."

"Why?" Catra winced as Li'nus tutted turning her hand over, she knew better than to fight a medic, it was like the first thing they were taught. 

Tha'lya blinked before shaking her head, "We'll get you up to speed on how civility works Scrapper. Just know that someone breaking your wrist when not in an actual battle is not okay." 

"Then what's the point of fighting?" Catra winced then muttered " _Scrapper_?.

"Settle arguments, sometimes just to fight cause its fun." Tha'lya stopped then grin shoving her elbow in Nii'kola, "Lovers quarrels." Nii'kola turned red and pushed Tha'lya away.

"That was _once_."

"They were fighting for your hand, and then you turned them both down. Fucking savage." Tha'lya slapped her hand on Nii'kola's arm who glared and rubbed the spot.

Catra frowned, "Why would you want someone's hand? They already have two?" Li'nus laughed as he tightened the wrap and began to fashion a sling, his claws slicing up the fabric with surprising gentleness.

"Alright. Family terms and we gotta cover relationships and love."

Catra felt small and stupid surrounded by these three, "What's love?"

Tha'lya smiled reaching out to ruffle her mane, Catra swiped at her wholeheartedly, these people were too touchy. "Let today be known as the Education of Catra."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww y'all thought Catra & Art'ymis were gonna have a big reunion. Naw, gonna have to wait a bit for that ✨✨ Next Chapter ; Educate the Cat


	4. I will hang around for good times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra gets a family talk & like a sex talk? Catra learns women are art. Tha'lya is in her feels. Nii'kola & Li'nus need a raise. Hek'tor is a precious feline.
> 
> Or
> 
> Educate the Cat

*******

**Halfmoon, Marketplace**

Catra loves food. She loves every morsel that is shoved into her palm. She loves the jam slathered onto soft, warm rolls, the metal skewers with chunks of meat on them, the drinks held to her lips in curved metal bowls and cups. Catra has a haul, putting whatever she cannot keep in her useful arm into the sling Li'nus has forced her to wear. Tha'lya was munching on a meat skewer idly pointing out other stalls that held things called 'cakes' and 'ice cream' while Nii'kola munched on various jam tarts. Li'nus had a whole basket busting with a taste from everything he loved, taking suggestions from the other two as they continued to pick through the market.

Catra finished off a skewer and dumped the metal stick into a container when she noted something out of the corner of her eye.

"Are those Horde weapons?" Catra turned, putting what was left in her hand into Li'nus' basket. A whole stall was held up on steel sticks with a vibrant purple fabric over the top. She could see plasma blasters and refashioned electric batons. She could even see the ion sabers that higher up officers used. Catra slipped into the shop, and the keeper's eyes widened as she picked her way through what they have. Adora always liked the staff, Lonnie favored brass knuckles and stun batons, Kyle couldn't hold anything, and Rogelio was a moving tank. Catra, however, _loved_ weapons. She loved working with whips and staff. She enjoyed her time training with trench knives and wrist blades, plasma swords, and ion sabers were all good fun. 

Tha'lya whistled as she held up a pair of pauldrons done up with white spikes. Nii’kola idly fingered a mace while Li'nus waited outside, munching on a piece of fruit. 

"Where did you get all this stuff?" Catra asked as she picked up an ion blade, holding it out as the comforting zooming sound turned on; it glowed gold and bright. She took a little practice swing before setting it down and picking up a long whip. "I cannot imagine the Horde let you have it."

"Magicats have been scavenging Horde dumping sites since they came. We’d find weapons and figured out how to fix them; now, we sell them in our markets and sometimes to other kingdoms using trade routes. I was looking for weapons when I found you." Nii'kola bumped her shoulder against Catra lightly, "I found a cat instead of some ion blades, but frankly, you were the better trade. We keep the best working stuff for the Magicat guard, sell the rest to the general public, and trade what we can." Nii’kola placed one of the heavy ion knives she was eying on the counter; the elderly magicat man named his price, and then Nii’kola got this sparkle in her eyes and shot right back at him with a lower offer.

Catra listened with fascination as Nii’kola and the shopkeeper continued to throw prices at each other, negotiating, throwing deals on and off the table. Tha’lya was flipping a mace over in her palm, watching exasperated, then slammed her hand onto the table between Nii’kola and the shopkeeper.

“How about I give you eight gold pieces, and we can get a move on? I don’t wanna spend all day in here listening to you haggling Nikki.” Tha’lya pulled some tokens out from her belt purse and threw them onto the counter before either could protest.

Catra followed them out of the shop, her eyes still on the ion short sword she’d been eyeing the whole time.

“You didn’t have to buy it for me!”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to listen to you hemming and hawing all day when we’ve got things to do. Besides, it wasn’t even that much.”

“I’ll pay you back, just lemme,” she went rustling through her purse, the clink of coins against her claws before Tha’lya reached over the stop her wrist. They both got this look on their face like they were constipated or something after eating nothing but brown ration bars for a week.

“Call it a gift.”

“For what?”

“Cause I wanted to, fuck. Scrapper!” Catra jolted from watching the odd tennis match play out and strolled over, her free hand still in her pocket, “Come on, let’s show you what a library is; Hek’tor is probably there already, obsessive little shit.”

“For someone that tried to beat me up this morning, you sure are talking about the Prince with a lot of disrespect,” Catra grabbed another meat skewer from Li’nus; she’d never eaten this much in her entire life. Not even Adora could boast of having this much food, it made her stomach ache a little and the bile in her throat rise, but she wanted to have more. Catra took a bit and threw her hair over a shoulder as Tha’lya glared at her. 

Li’nus laughed, “They’re cousins, like third or second, but still blood-related.”

Catra frowned, “Is that another family term?”

Li’nus nodded, “How about we go sit over by the kitten’s yard?” the quartet took place at a large flat stone, Nii’kola curled up in a hot spot while Tha’lya moved food and a sweet green drink towards her. Catra watched in fascination as several children played over a large metal and stone structure, running off the edges, chasing each other around, and making loud nuisances of themselves. Catra smiled, propping her head on her chin, watching a little blonde one fling itself from an edge only to catch his hands on a low hanging vine and swinging to the ground. 

“Catra?”

“Hmm?” her concentration broke as she turned to Li’nus, who had several berries, fruits, and other foodstuff laid out in front of him. 

“We are going to have a little lesson. These cherries,” he pointed to the small bundle of red berries, “are the maternal, or mother’s family, and the blueberries,” he tapped on the pile of blueish-purple berries to his right, “are the paternal or father’s line.”

“Okay.” Li’nus began to arrange them until a cherry and blueberry were stuck on opposite ends of a stick. 

“They are connected cause they got married, or mated, and had a kit,” he dropped a slice of orange below them, “they had multiple children,” and he threw a few more below them, “which makes them all siblings, following?”

Catra mostly wanted to taste an orange but nodded anyway.

“Now if those kids marry other people,” he pushes a bunch of other fruit and arranged them, so they were paired up, “then they mate and have kids,” he threw a bunch of other foodstuffs below them, “then their kid’s kids are the blueberry and cherries’ grandchildren. It is the orange’s nieces and nephews, and the siblings of their parents are their aunts and uncles.”

Catra followed carefully; it was like a child’s battleplan, all the pieces in relation and moving together. “So, if Hek’tors Granduncle is Ah’killes. That means Hek’tors father was Ah’killes, nephew, and Ah’killes brother and Ah’killes had the same parents. This means that Tha’lya's cousins, Ah’killes grandkids, are Hek’tor’s cousins because they are linked through their father’s lines. But they are... not as related because there is a whole set of parents between them. Right?” Catra scratched her head, this was all dumb, and confusing, just say you're blood-related so you don't cohabitate with the wrong person, why did they need all these words to decide who was family. Far as Catra could tell, family didn't usually mean blood-related, then again, what did Catra know about family?

Li’nus snapped his fingers, “Exactly! So Tha’lya and Hek’tor are related, but much more distantly; however, they are still considered family despite this distance. Families are much more familiar with each other, despite rank, though people still pull it. The Southern Waste Caravan is a collection of around 25 families, with Ah’killes being the Chief, but he has a ton of kids--”

“I’ve got 25 Aunts and Uncles.” Tha’lya picked at her teeth with a stick, “and I have no idea how many cousins I’ve got; we uncover more every year, I swear.”

Catra blinked, “Woah. Are any of your guys related to Tha’lya?”

“Fortunately, no, my family practices medicine and are scavengers; we haven’t mated with anyone from Tha’lya’s clan in like a hundred years despite being in the same Caravan. Don’t want to twine the family lines too together.” Li'nus commented as he started piling the cherries in front of him, popping a few in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully, "Though I think my youngest sister is dating one of Tha'lya's cousins, can't be sure though there are so many of them. Can't throw a rock without hitting someone Tha'lya is related to in the whole South usually."

Nii’kola’s tail twitched before yawning, “I’m not either, my Mama is Southern Waste, and my Papa is from the Emerald Jungle Caravan. My Mama’s family is a more recent addition to the Southern Waste Caravan. We were metal workers here in Halfmoon until around 50 years ago when some decided to be traders. We’ve been doing that since.” 

Catra nodded, “Alright, you guys said two words. Marriage and Mating? What is that?” she hummed as she skewered one of the orange-kids with her claws, the juice dripping down her fur as she licked it up. “Is that like cohabitating and fucking?”

“Catra! Little ears!” Li’nus sounded scandalized as he began to hush her own. 

“What did I say? Co-habitating? Fucking?”

“The last one,” Li’nus muttered from where his head was buried into his paws.

Tha’lya laughed, “Don’t mind him; he’s a fucking prude. Mating and marriage are different. Marriage is when you promise yourself to someone for the rest of your life; you promise to share your life, your hunts, your children. These are usually between two people, but I’ve heard of foursome marriages. Mating is more of a Magicat thing. You exchange mating bites and bind your body and mind to someone; you are incapable of breaking up with them. It usually happens during a Heat, and it ought to be planned, but there have been plenty of accidental Heat mating bites.” 

“Tha’lya little ears,” Li’nus hissed as the white magicat waved her hand at him. 

“Marriages are much more Etheria traditional, there are some differences, but there is always an exchange of items before the actual ceremony. My parents exchanged weapons.”

“Is Ah’killes married? You said he had a bunch of children, right. I mean, I know that birth is super painful and only happens once a year or so...”

“Naw,” Tha’lya grabbed a skewer tearing into it, “My grandfather is as free a tomcat as he’s ever been. It’s a Southern Waste’s thing, and we are usually pretty free of attachment like marriages and mating, we wander the Waste’s fighting, trading, protecting the Halfmoon’s borders.” Tha’lya took another bite, chewing thoughtfully, “There has been an uptick of marriages and matings since the Horde came, though; people are more eager to tie themselves with those they love than ever before.”

Catra thought back to Adora, to their childish promise. She thought of Lonnie, Rogelio, and Kyle, what they had as a triad, protecting each other from the trouble that always followed Catra and Adora. There was a reason Shadow Weaver knew she could pick on Catra more than the triad, and it wasn’t just her strange obsession and love for Adora. The trio wasn’t going to give up one of their own and get put into whatever spotlight Catra and Adora were under. It was safer for them. She couldn’t blame them, even if she was hurt by it. 

“It’s like that in the Horde,” Catra leaned her head back, allowing herself to bask in the warmth of the Scarlet Opal and its song. “You tie yourselves up with people to watch your back. You make promises you aren’t sure you can keep, but you make them anyway. You try to run together if you dare, and you take the punishment together as you deserve.” Catra had taken her punishment alone. She could still taste the electricity on her tongue, see the youngest cadets with noses pressed to the glass under watchful Force Captains. Water sloshing in the bucket below her, soaking her feet while thick heavy bands cradled her thin chest tight until she could hardly breathe. Not that it would have mattered in the end. 

Catra didn’t cry. She wouldn’t give anyone a show. She would show these little Force kids how to die with dignity, goddamnit, so that they know that they’re next. 

Catra let her head fall onto the stone, taking a shuddering breath. Nii’kola and Li’nus exchanged worried glances above her head while Tha’lya frowned. It was apparent Catra had slipped somewhere dark, and none of them knew quite how to reach her. 

Then the blonde one, the little kitten on the play area, let out a shrill shriek. All four looked up, but only one moved. Catra, even with a broken arm, could move; her feet were pushing off the playground’s platform. She made a calculated leap, catching the kid in her ree arm, her broken wrist flopping dangerous as they came closer to the wall Catra was pinballing herself too. The trio at the table yelled, but they didn’t need to worry. Catra’s claws flashed, dragging against the stone with an awful shriek, leaving deep gouges as she slowed her ascent, flipped, and landed feet first on the ground. She pulled the quivering kit from her arms, holding them by the scruff of their neck before letting them drop a harmless foot to the ground. 

“Don’t jump where you know you can’t land.” was her only advice, with a toothy smile, and strolled back to the table, all three in shock.

Li’nus gasped before grabbing Catra and wrestling her back to the bench, “You should be resting, not performing daring rescues of small kittens. He would have been fine; it’s tough for young magicat’s to break bones!”

Catra blinked, “It is?”

“Yes, it is!”

“Huh,” Catra thought back to her childhood and all her various ailments and injuries. Not even Adora escaped breaking at least every prominent bone in their body. Her head had cracked three times and nearly scared Catra to death three times. “I suppose Horde training was probably too high for me not to get hurt from. Although why would they have spires this big in Halfmoon, and why aren’t they coming from the ceiling, you’d think neither of those would be at all safe?”

Tha’lya grinned, “That cause the Queen sunk Halfmoon from the surface.”

“What!” Catra yelped, “The Queen put a whole city underground? We used to be above ground?” Catra thought the walls looked too new, and they lacked the wear and tear of something ancient. The whole place was made of this weird melted rock, black and red on the walls, while the city floor was all this soft mossy grass and red gravel. It was odd. The city didn’t match the cavern it lived within. 

“Yes, I’m older than you. I remember when Halfmoon’s rock spires rose to the moon. When we had great fields of berries and fruit trees, and the great Jungle surrounded us. We are in the Southern part of the Whispering Woods. You could walk three or four miles and get lost in them. Queen Art’ymis sunk Halfmoon below the surface when the Horde invaded and destroyed many of our country’s villages. Some of the Horde fell underground with us, they fought our army, and many escaped. That is when the Crown Princess was stolen-- a lucky escape.”

Catra’s eyes widened, “Hek’tor has a sister?”

“Crown Princess Leo’nita, she was only a few months old. I hadn’t even gotten a chance to meet her yet since we were in the Crimson Wastes when the Horde invaded. Hek’tor doesn’t like to talk about her, nor does the Queen. I’m not sure if he even remembers what she looks like; he was only 4 when they took her away.”

“So she came to the Horde too...” Catra’s ears folded against her head, “I’m the last Magicat the Horde has-- had. I don’t think she survived, Leo’nita that is.” Tha’lya sighed, pressed her cheek to the stone table; Nii’kola scooted closer, purring soothingly as she nuzzled against Tha’lya’s shoulder. 

“I hate the Horde,” Tha’lya finally whispered, “They took so many kittens, they took you, they took Cy’rus, and look what they did to you. They threw you out like trash,” Tha’lay surged to her feet, slamming her fists on the stone. “I hate them!”

Nii’kola tugged on her hand, “Sit down, Tha’lya, you’re scaring the kits,” her eyes flicked towards the play structure; a few kids watched, fur fluffed out and tails whipping fearfully. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tha’lya sat back down, resting her chin on the table while Nii’kola rubbed her hand over the thick fur around her neck. “I didn’t mean to get worked up like that. I just...”

“I know Tha’lya, but that doesn’t mean we won’t do anything about it. We’ll get out there and defeat them.” Catra stayed silent, her hands fisting on her pants; there was the smallest of tears as her pinky claw cut a little at her inner thigh, drawing blood. No one had cared about her so quickly, at least not since Adora pulled her from the crate they put her in to die. No one had ever given her mire than a cursory glance, like a turd stuck to the bottom of her shoe. It didn't matter that she was the second highest ranked cadet in their division of 500, that she was being fast-tracked to be one of the youngest Horde strategist. None of it had mattered, they threw her away like and trash. 

Now, Catra was going to put them six feet under.

“We’ll destroy the Horde,” Catra whispered fervently, “I promise we will,” she lifted her eyes, hypnotic in their dual tones that caught Tha’lya up in her gale. Catra was trained to be a leader, a warrior, a top Horde strategist; it was destiny that she would return from the people she was stolen from, to defeat her kidnappers for good. She stood, holding her hand out, “Let’s fuck them up.” her mouth bared a mouthful of vengeful, terrible fangs.

Tha’lya grinned back and grasped her forearm, squeezing, “Fuck, yes.”

Li’nus let out a long-suffering sigh, “Nikki?”

“Hmm?” the grey magicat looked away from the bulge of muscle on Tha’lya’s arm, “What?”

“I guess we gotta make a pact, so these two won’t get themselves killed.”

“I suppose we are babysitters...”

“I don’t need a babysitter!” the pair screeched in tandem, just as the great clock that hung over the Marketplace rang two marks past noon. 

Tha’lya stretched her arms up, shaking herself a little, fur fluffing as the Scarlet Opal continued to warm their small cavern. “We should head back to the Inn. Didn’t you say that Hek’tor was going to take you for a tour of his precious library?”

“Yeah,” Catra almost didn’t want to get up. She liked it here, with the spongy grass below her feet, the children playing in the background as the other three gave her food and talked about Halfmoon. “I suppose.”

“Hey,” Nii’kola smiled, refraining from nudging her shoulder, “I’ll come with you to see Hek’tor. He can be pretty excitable. I know better than to try and get Tha’lya in a library. She’ll fall asleep at the first opportunity.”

“Books are boring.” Tha’lya interrupted.

“Li’nus has a shift at the Halfmoon infirmary at three marks, so we’ll go together. Sounds good?”

Catra wouldn’t voice it aloud, but Nii’kola’s easy voice was soothing. It put her at ease in a way no-one else had ever done. Not even Adora could settle her down the way Nii’kola did. What sorta weird magic did she possess? “Yeah, sounds good to me.”

“Let’s get back then.”

As they continued to wander back, Li’nus pointed out various clothing shops, book shops, even a few plant shops. Catra blinked. 

“Wait, what’s a Heat?”

Nii’kola and Li’nus turned a full shade of red while even Tha’lya coughed, “Something we should talk about when we aren’t in public. And something you should have already had.”

Catra felt a cold sweat down her back. Had she already done something wrong? Was she messed up cause of the Horde? Did they do something to her to prevent whatever a ‘ _heat_ ’ was? 

“Catra,” Nii’kola’s voice was gentle, “calm down, some people are just late bloomers, and if you’re stressed or malnourished, then heats can be irregular. We aren’t even really sure how old you are.”

“At least sixteen, which isn’t too late for heats, they occur between the ages of 14 and 21, so you are coming on a much more common age for them to appear. Don’t worry. We’ll talk about that away from polite company.” Li’nus spoke up as he hurried the pack down the street towards the Inn. Catra could already see Hek’tor waving excitably from a barrel he perched himself on, dwarfing it completely while a few kittens climbed over his mountainous shoulders. ‘What a goof,’ Catra hummed to herself as they came closer.

“Ready to go to the library!” Hek’tor grabbed a kitten, flinging them high in the air to catch with a gleeful whoop.

Catra nodded, “Yeah, Nii’kola is coming with us.” her tone brokered no argument.

“Sounds good!” Hek’tor chirped as another kitten crawled up his leg. 

*******

**Halfmoon Palace; Library**

Catra stared at the grand vaulted ceilings; the red and gold light of the opal echoed through the chamber off of mirrors as pillars covered in shelves ran straight up. There were nooks within the pillars, cushions positioned in hideyholes that ran from floor to ceiling. Long tables took up space in the room, and various Magicat’s were seated at the tables, pouring over books and scrolls, while further in there were circles of plush leather couches and chairs where Magicats curled up with books. Catra poked her head around a corner finding an elderly Magicat reading a story to a pack of enthralled kittens. The whole place was quiet, only the whispers of Magicat’s perusing the stacks, students groaning over scrolls, and the various hushed giggles of children.

The Horde soldier was unsure if she’d ever been in such a peaceful place. Her fingers dragged over the spines of books. Hek’tor had given her a map and told her to pick whatever she wanted. The map was large, separated into sections with the most challenging books, and thus, the most interesting ones were higher up the pillars and shelves. Floating polished red rocks that Hek’tor said would float where you wanted if you told it what section you were looking for. Catra had only sneezed at the use of magic, glowered, then began her climb up the stacks, the map in her mouth as she perched on in a nook halfway up the pillar. 

“Military... Culture... Art?” Catra peered at the map, “What’s ‘art’?” she mused aloud before shrugging and began to jump from pillar to pillar in search of the military books. The magicat knew if she got her hands on the Magicat’s military history, she could pick apart their strengths and weaknesses, and she could become an asset, be worthy of their time and attention. Catra found herself clinging to the edges of the shelves. Hek’tor had provided her with a pouch that she was quickly filling with all sorts of novels. Titles like ‘ _Military Commands of the last 100 years_ ’ and ‘ _Princess Da’fne Conquering of the Crimson Wastes_ ’ and ‘ _Prince So’dor and the Battles of Mystacor._ ’ Catra found maps of army movements, accounts of captains and soldiers, the boundaries of what was once Halfmoon. 

“Catra!” Nii’kola yelled from below, “Are you done?”

“I thought we had to be quiet in a library?” Catra jumped down, her feet finding even the slimmest of perches to scramble down. Her eyes caught on a spine just as she came down. The gold spine gleamed warmly while an emerald cat eye stared at her from the top of the spine. “ _Copies of the Paintings and Poetry of Sa’ffo_ ’, Catra paused to flip it open against her forearm, bracing herself against the shelf. The pages tumbled open for a dark-haired human pressed against a gold and black magic, surrounded by purple flowers; they were rolling in the grass, sun dappling on the rounded human body, the curve of her waist, and the indents of the feline’s claws in her skin. They were both naked, mouths pressed together, melding together into one being. There was an inscription above it, ‘Human Pet and her Violet Lover’ in delicate looping silver. “Woah,” Catra flipped to another page. It was a hybrid bull woman, her horns curving delicately as she reclined on a plush settee, berry juices stained against her palm and her breast as she smiled. Catra blinked and checked the section she was in, “Art? Are women art?”

“Catra! Get down here before you fall!” Nii’kola yelled again while a chorus of shouts and hushes came from all angles. Catra let herself drop the final 15 feet harmlessly or so next to Nii’kola, who was smiling fondly.

“Enjoying yourself, Scrapper?”

“Sure am Tokens.”

Nii’kola blinked, “Tokens?” Catra lifted the purse she’d swiped from Nii’kola’s belt, “Hey, give that back!”

“Come and get it Tokens,” Catra dodged her lunge and ran around her, grinning as Nii’kola puffed and took off after her. Catra escaped a few students who were yelling at her to stop playing around in the library. Just as she was about to lunge for a shelf, a heavy arm came around her middle.

“Are you desecrating this sacred place on your first-day kit?” Captain He’cate smiled as she let the younger Magicat push her off, her book bag falling off her shoulder and spilling onto the ground. “Oh, looks like we got a bookworm here,” the Captain knelt to help pick up the fallen scripture, her brows raised. This close, and without teasing any violence, Catra could see the vague greying of her fur and how striking her green eyes were. They pinned her to place as the Captain turned over a strategy log in her hand, flipping through it. “Interested in military history?”

“I've been a soldier my whole life,” Catra shoved a few books into the back, flipping her mane from her face, “I have a vested interest in anything that can help me win.”

“Looking to take on the Horde alone?” the Captain grabbed another book detailing recent military campaigns.

“If I have to.”

“Hmm... alright, scoot along before you give young Nii’kola a heart-attack.” The Captain stained, brushing off her detailed red and gold uniform, before disappearing back into the stacks. Catra could feel her, though, those green eyes staring her down as Nii’kola caught up and Catra tossed her the coin purse.

“Has anyone told you that you’re annoying?” Nii’kola huffed hands on her knees.

Catra could only laugh as they continued towards the area Hek’tor set up for them. He was leaned up against a plush leather armchair, his tail laid over the arm while he splayed, there was a rigid wooden board held against his thigh and knee, a piece of paper pinned there while his claws continued to trace over a sigil. Catra took a few closer steps, noting he was copying it from a book. 

“Hey Hek’tor,” Catra jumped to perch herself on the top of the armchair, lounging as she looked over the odd writing, “whatcha up to?”

“Runic markings,” he replied absently, before sighing and running his palm over the paper. The sigil he’d carved there sunk into the paper, ceasing to exist, and Catra sneezed. “Wow, you are magic sensitive, huh?”

“Is that like a thing?”

“For people with latent magical powers, yeah, you can sense magic, and your magic wants out.”

“Well, tell my magic to stay buried. I don’t want anything to do with it,” she sneezed again as a floating rock careened above their heads. “I never had this kinda problem with Shadow Weaver’s magic.”

“It could be a reaction only to light magic. Dark magic has its malevolent force, so your reaction to it differs.”

Did the mind-numbing terror of a soul-sucking witch count as a reaction? Catra would rather admit that than her fear. 

“Whatever, besides, you copied the sigil wrong,” she had noted it the moment she peeked over his shoulder. She flexed her claws, willing her pointer claw to come out only a little. “See...” she traced her claw in a continuous line, drawing the zig-zag motion before ending it with that curling twist Hek’tor was trying to produce and failing. “It’s just a twist of your claw, like when you grab someone and turn your wrist to pull them towards you, or when you throw like a bomb.” 

Catra finished with a smile, and her finger lifted off the page. Hek’tor gasped as the sigil suddenly glowed, bright red and smoking. With a yelp, he shoved the paper off his lap as it was consumed into flames on the library floor. There were no shouts about getting help. Just Hek’tor drawing a rune in the air as a small spout of water appeared, dousing the flame.

Catra could only stare at her hand in horror, “Did I do that?”

“Latent magic. I told you, you’re insanely powerful,” Hek’tor shoved his flopping hair from his face, “you really should let me teach you.”

“I said I’m good,” Catra curled back onto herself. Nii’kola moved as if to press against her but stopped at the last moment to pat her shoulder instead.

“But seriously, how did you get that rune down so quickly.”

“It’s just like doodles, right? Little pictures, I used to do those on the walls when I was a kid.”

“Oh, an artist, are we?”

“Artist?” Catra tried the word out on her tongue. She needed to get a notebook or something to keep track of all these new words. “What is that?”

“Someone who makes art!” Hek’tor replied with a grin, conjuring another paper out of thin air to Catra chagrin. 

Catra bit the inside of her lip, “Are women art?”

Hek’tor sputtered, while Nii’kola began to giggle madly before answering, “They most certainly are!”

Hek’tor shook his head, returning to his place in the armchair, sprawling across it like the King he’d be one day. “Art is something a person creates. It could be beautiful, like a painting, poems, or even just a creation. It’s the physical manifestation of consciousness and life.”

“Are maps art then?” Catra pulled out a military campaign detailing the storming of Salinaes, whatever that was, “It’s a physical manifestation of life.”

“Well, yes, maps to a degree are art since someone had to paint and draw it. But I’m talking more like individual expression through stories or paintings.”

“Huh.” Catra thought back to all the spray paint she’d left scattered around the Horde, all the doodles she did for Adora, and the little markings she left in faraway corners. Then she thought of the book in her satchel. “Is this art?” she held it out for Hek’tor inspection, whose smile brightened. 

“Yes, it is! She is one of the most ancient artists of the Magicats from nearly 1000 years ago. According to legend, they say she might’ve even been a lover of She-Ra herself, but then again, so was everyone. It’s beautiful renditions of Sa’ffo’s lovers, her art, and about the beautiful artists’ school she made in Halfmoon, there is still an Artists Guild dedicated to her if you’d ever want to go?”

“Me? I’m no artist, I don’t draw gushy emotional stuff,” she swiped the book back from Hek’tor, “I just ya know scratch things into metal.”

“Etching is art. Have you ever drawn with like actual pens or paper?”

“In class, I used to, had to stop though,” Catra flexed her hand, thinking about the dumb doodle strip her and Adora passed between each other during Torture and Tears 101.

“Why?” Nii’kola hummed from next to her. She was pouring over a map Catra brought of Halfmoon’s old trails and routes to the other countries. 

“Captain Octavia didn’t like it, so Adora and I got matching broken fingers, we stopped,” Catra shot off quickly, flexing her hand that Octavio had snapped three of her fingers. Catra always got the last word, especially when she took the octopus woman’s eye out; hopefully, she can take the other when they meet again, and Catra blows the Fright Zone to smithereens and dance on its molten ashes. 

Hek’tor stood up, face unreadable, as he took Catra in with a long stare. Taking two lunging strides before grabbing Catra’s flexing hand. His smile was bright, his hands were warm, and she sneezed again. He was practically dripping with this magic stuff. “Listen to me, Catra, no one will ever break your bones again for doing something you want. If you want to etch, I’ll send the metal to the Caravan. If you want never to be a soldier again, I’ll personally vouch for you to go to the Artists’ Guild.” The Horde soldier couldn’t help the tremble in her core, her body tightening with his little speech, mouth dry as Nii’kola scooted closer. They were both so close, so trusting that she wouldn’t lash out, turn within seconds and go running back to the Horde. They didn’t know anything about her! Catra nodded, slowly and carefully, not trusting her closed up throat to say anything. 

Hek’tor smiled, and it warmed the room far more than the spinning, glowing rock did. 

“I’ll send some metal and basic art supplies and a book on it to the Caravan tonight. The Captain said you were looking at military books. I was serious. You don’t have to return to a military career if you don’t want to.”

What would Catra do if she wasn’t a soldier if she didn’t square off on the training grounds or plan engagement movements? Who would she have been if she wasn't stolen? She would already know all of this, all their culture, their artists, their history, instead of grasping for straws. She owed it to Halfmoon to try to drive the Horde from their lands, to try and bring normalcy back. She owed it to them. They took her in, no questions asked, opened the whole city to her. The least she could do is draw some battle plans and willingly offer her life. It’s more than she’d ever given Shadow Weaver, Hordak, and the whole Horde. She could gamble her own life freely now, she had a choice. They forced her onto this military path, and with their training she was going to rip the Fright Zone apart.

Catra lifted her eyes and placed the books on the low table in front of her. “Once I finish healing, we can talk about that.” her voice was low, firm but still wavering as she eyed the art book.

Hek’tor smiled, leaned back in his chair, and continued to play with his magic. Catra kept a close eye on his tracing paw while Nii’kola read some novel that didn’t even look real. Tracing her fingers over the strategy log, Catra took a long deep breath and switched gears, then opened and began to read. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Ted's post-finals chapter update. I got an A on my final project & got some cool offers. So I'm riding a bit high on the academic end of my life. So here is Catra getting to be happy with friends!!! Learning things!!! Getting involved!!! We love to see it.


	5. these are the days... that you remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra gets some good coping mechanisms. Catra shows up with an iced coffee & a permanent attitude. Catra gets a part-time job? Catra gets some PT, thank god. 
> 
> or
> 
> Catra gets to be a (damaged) teenager.

*******

**Halfmoon; Southern Waste’s Caravan Rooftop**

Hek’tor true to his word had sent supplies; Catra had retired from the library after staying there until what passed for sundown underground. Catra had returned to the library three times before the week was up, having spent most of the week sleeping and hanging out in the Southern Wastes’ meeting hall then roaming Halfmoon from the vines and scouting from the top of pillars. Luckily Li’nus had a 72-hour shift in the Infirmary, and Nii’kola was too busy doing some kind of trader stuff to stop Catra from nearly breaking her neck a dozen times. 

Tha’lya just egged her on to go higher, bless her heart. 

Nearing the end of the week, Catra found herself usually lounging in the rafters. It was quiet there. She could watch the Caravan go about their daily lives in the meeting hall. On occasion, kittens would climb up to sit next to her, practically vibrating with questions about the Horde, where she came from, and if dying hurt. 

So it only pushed Catra to move to the rooftop, curling up under the Opal’s light whose song, as usual, was pressing down on her ears. The song became much more soothing as the days went on, her headaches subsiding. Li’nus muttered about dehydration, malnourishment, and anemia the whole time she sat in the little room she’d woken up within. He’d prescribed her to drink as many fluids as she could and eat these little pills that were supposed to help with her iron deficiency? Catra didn’t even know there was metal in her blood. But she took the prescription dutifully, even if she hated the pill’s bitterness when she bit down on it. 

They had another appointment in two weeks or so, more ‘in-depth medical overviewing’ or something.

Tha’lya and Nii’kola had spent much of the early week with her, Catra yelling at Tha’lya when she trained, and Nii’kola explaining how money worked and introducing her to people from other parts of Halfmoon. Being a trader meant the taller grey magicat had connections beyond just the Southern Caravan. It wasn’t until the end of the week that Catra faced being alone. The pair had gone Caravan for a few days, on a trading expedition North towards Brightmoon. Catra wanted to join, but Ah’killes asked her to stay behind. 

“You are still mending; coming back to life is taxing on the body and your mental health. I know it doesn’t seem like that since you’re still adjusting to Halfmoon, but trust me, as someone whose died three times, you really should take heed,” Ah’killes finished his little speech by ruffling up her mane, “We’ll get you out there running trades with the caravan and fighting off the Horde in no time, just be patient."

Catra was not used to be patient, at least not towards herself.

Although annoyed, the young Magicat acquiesced to Ah'killes' ask and found herself bored. Bored and alone. Everyone else had jobs to do. Things to do in Halfmoon.

The young magicat had never been alone at the Horde. Even when Adora went to more specialized training, Catra had been packed up with the squad for classes and practice runs or pouring over Horde strategies, being challenged by the Force Captains’ puzzles and mind games. Having a whole day to herself, not having to be forced to lessons, training, or whatever odd job that the Horde required of her, every day to the last second planned out. It sounded like a dream, but was after the third day alone, turning quickly into a nightmare. That was until a messenger from the Palace showed up with a delivery.

Catra needed to figure out what ‘presents’ were and how to get one to Hek’tor; otherwise, she wouldn’t know how to pay him back for the small chest, and the desk hat had been delivered to the Inn. The trunk was ornate, a wooden thing with bronze handles with embossed of warrior cats, the note Hek’tor included was oddly sweet. Catra wasn’t sure if she met anyone as kind as the Prince. 

_Catra;_

_As promised, though several days late, I’ve delivered to you some necessary art supplies courtesy of the Artists Guild here in Halfmoon. I spoke to the Head of the Guild, who said if you’d want to come and take classes or sit in on their session, you are more than welcome and come by to the Guild anytime. I am woefully out of touch with art, so the Guild gave me some basic material based on what you told me. You can find them all in the chest, which is yours to keep your supplies together._

_The desk is from my mother the Queen; I told her you were taking quite an interest in books and the history of the Magicat’s, so she ordered a small one taken from one of the extra rooms. She hopes that you enjoy what the library has to offer and to come to get anything you’d like from there. Mom also included a list of some of her favorite books, though to warn you, some of them are sappy romances._

_I hope that this gift will help you settle in more to Halfmoon and you feel welcome. I’ve enjoyed your company in the library. I will be dealing with some meetings for the next few days with the Queen and visiting monarchs, so I hope this provides you entertainment._

_All my best,_

_Hektor, Crown Prince of Halfmoon, Master Magician, Chief of the Council of Cats._

Catra honestly was floored by the letter from the Prince and the gift from the Queen. The prince and Catra had been spending a lot of time together when the other three were doing their actual jobs. Catra asked questions about their culture and words she was now noting in a tiny notebook she kept tucked away in her belt. While Hek’tor asking for her opinion on the runes he was working on as Catra, careful now to not touch the magic paper, helped him figure the intricate work out. She found the time in the library almost calming when compared to the day-to-day interactions with the Caravan. They were so loud, happy to drink and fight, and while Catra was always eager for a fight, spoiling for it most days, she watched as they fought for fun. There was little malicious intent, and judging from how she fought Tha’lya and her first instinct was to pry open her stomach when Snowball snapped her wrist, Catra had decided to stay out of it. 

The chest itself was a veritable wonderland. The Guild had provided her with paints in small metal tins, brushes, and a collapsible easel. However, the real trove was the three notebooks of blank white pages of varying sizes, a whole roll of leather with pencils, half of them were black and the other half in a dozen colors. She’d gotten erasers, a ruler, some tape that she couldn’t figure out the purpose to, a small knife she figured for cutting up paper, and a weird board with indents and holes. The first pages of the medium notebook were already filled with her doodles, becoming more elaborate every time she cracked it open on her knee.

The roof was by and far the best place to draw. Catra could curl up with the supplies, get away from other people looking over her shoulder, testing her patience, and frankly, her instincts of someone too close to her neck. 

Currently, Catra was looking up at the Opal; it was different from the Black Garnet. The runestone in the Fright Zone was held using all sorts of wires, Shadow Weaver’s power came from the damn thing, and it always glowed and hummed maliciously. Simply going into the Black Garnet’s room gave people static shocks and sent their hair lifting from their heads. But the Opal was larger, practically the size of two of the Garnets. It wasn’t the same red; instead of a dangerous deep crimson, the runestone was almost translucent, with sparkles of gold and green coming from deep within its center. It followed a figure 8 path around Halfmoon as if observing the city. It was a nearly perfect oval, polished round with no visible dents or bumps. The sparkles of color within the red jewel looked almost like flickers of flames. 

This is what Catra was trying to capture, the edge of her palm rubbing out another spark on the surface as she continued to draw the roaming runestone against the melted ceiling of the city. 

This was also how Ah’killes found her, half asleep and with her notebook braced against her chest, far past the last call for dinner. The elder Magicat lifted the girl carefully from her seat and hopped down from the roof. Ah’killes knew the girl would be awake until exhaustion, and she didn’t know the dangers of using life, not that it had been her choice at all. Depositing her back in bed, Ah’killes didn’t mean to be nosy, it was just the curiosity of a cat.

Flipping through the notebook, he found sketches of the library stacks, an outline of Nii’kola and Tha’lya seated at a bench, Li’nus reading at his medical desk. However, there was a human he didn’t recognize too, the side profile of a pretty face, an outline of the girl in a boxer’s position face not filled in, and another of the girl curled onto her side, face turned into a pillow while her hair spilled over the bed. Someone from the Horde, a friend, maybe? Catra still hadn’t opened up as to why the Horde had killed her and kept her mouth shut on the subject except to make commentary. But anything more than the daily bleedings of how the Horde was destroying children’s lives, there was no indication as to why Catra’s supposed crime was heinous to them. 

Placing the notebook back on the desk, he covered the girl in a heavy blanket, hoping the weight would be soothing.

“Goodnight, Leo’nita,” he whispered, “rest easy.” before leaving the room. Catra didn’t wake, only purring at his warm voice.

*******

**Halfmoon; Marketplace**

Catra wasn’t at the Inn when the caravan returned home a week or so later, bringing in tales of She-Ra, the Rebellion, and loads of trashed Horde goodies. Instead, she was up to her elbows in a bakery that kidnapped her, making something called ‘ _pastries_.’ In between her time in the library pouring over history books and compiling her notes, combing through dictionaries answering the increasing number of words in her notebook, and lounging on rooftops doodling the world around her; Catra had become a regular at the sweet-smelling pastry shack. They also had this oddly bitter dark drink called ‘coffee’ that Li’nus was always trying to steal from her whenever she came back with it, often enough that she was bringing a second for him, though she preferred the cold one with the ice in it. Catra had been visiting every day for the better part of a week in half, it had been nearly three weeks since she came to Halfmoon, and Li’nus was one more pleading look and mild threat to clear her for training with Captain He’cate. She’d offered at the dinner Catra had gone to at the Palace, which was incredibly awkward, to say the least, mostly because Catra never had to use utensils before. All her food came either pre-wrapped or just handed to her. She learned the hard way with soup, to the point that Hek’tor had broken the arm of his chair while laughing, so Catra had kept to using a knife to stab anything that looked remotely stabbable for the remains of dinner, effectively ruining it. The Queen asked her back for the next week, and Catra managed to weasel out of that one by saying Li’nus wanted to do an overnight checkup. Which had led to Li’nus being ecstatic that Catra was:

“Taking a concern in your body’s health! Truly a great step forward in the healing process! I’m so proud of you!”

Before she promptly tried to push him into a pair of wrestling Magicat’s in the meeting hall, nearly getting his teeth knocked in. Ah’killes had given her a little dressing down for that one, but the screech Li’nus let out was entertainment. Besides, Ah’killes lectures were harmless as a kitten’s bite compared to what the Horde would do any day of the week, any hour, any minute. 

So Catra had taken to trying to familiarize herself with Magicat food, touring the stalls for all kinds of grub. She loved the heavy spices and sour flavors; cheese did not settle well in her stomach. But pasties, she liked those best. They flaked in her palm and had sweet soft centers, sometimes even filled with meat and herbs that they called ‘savory.’ It didn’t matter because Catra stopped by for sausage rolls and her iced drink daily, slipping them bronze tokens that Ah’killes had given her. She needed to start making tokens soon. Catra didn’t want to be dependent on the Caravan for everything, even if Ah’killes said no one would mind. It wasn’t expected that she’d find trade and make money; even joining the Magicat guard was out of reach right now due to her injuries. Li’nus had said she could probably trade drawings of people for tokens or trade, but she curled around her notebook protectively. The pictures weren’t for sale, and besides, she wasn’t even that good.

This was not how the stall owner saw it when Catra had fumbled the notebook while toting out the drinks and sausage rolls to head to the library again. The elderly magicat woman, with forearms and biceps of steel, had flipped through the notebook while Catra hissed, hot coffee spilling onto her fur. 

“These are beautiful Catra,” the elderly woman traced over the lines of the palace, “really stunning.”

“Don’t look at them,” Catra finally shoved the pastries into her bag, “or I’ll stop coming and make my own food!”

The baker lifted her eyebrow, “Where did you learn to make pastries kitten?”

Catra sputtered, blushing as she finally took the notebook away, “Places.”

“Well, how about you come down and show me how it’s done, hmmm?”

Which was how Catra got roped into working at the bakery in the midday, rolling out dough and sprinkling cakes with sugar and candied fruits. 

The bakery was quiet during the midday hours; most people off to eat more filling meals. The storefront was open-air as the marketplace was all around, but the owner had taken the liberty of placing a large counter upfront with stools for people to sit, drink, and talk. Catra, after her lessons on folding dough and icing treats, had taken to sketching in the corner. Drawing the treats that graced the rack behind the worker's counter. The baker, Hes’tia, was more than happy to trade labor for treats. Catra knew she had to get back to the training ground soon before she ballooned up and couldn’t make her jumps anymore. Ah’killes was happy to find Catra behind the counter one day after a meeting, rolling out dough and growling as her claws cut through it and into the cutting board while Hes’tia tutted at her. He said it was healthy for her to branch out, learn something new, get used to being in Halfmoon.

Which was exactly how Nii’kola and Tha’lya found her, up to her elbows in flour, cursing at the dough. 

“Someone got themselves a job,” Tha’lya purred, lounging her muscled form over the tempered glass to look at the globby mess Catra had made of some baguettes.

“Maybe we ought to change your name, Scrapper. Call you Cookie instead,” Nii’kola giggled until she took a handful of the flour to the face, sputtering as Catra glowered as she continued to work the overworked dough. 

“Shut the fuck up. It’s only for a little while.”

“You said that four days ago, Catra,” Kas’tor was Hes’tia’s grandchild, the same thick body type and tawny fun, their amber eyes blinked, “yet here you are, making a mess of things again. Honestly, Grandmother is the worst when she takes on pet projects.” Catra flinched a little, moving as Kas’tor took the dough from underneath her; the elder Magicat tossed it into the trash,

“You don’t have to be rude to her! She’s just helping out, right Catra?” Nii’kola pipped up, still dusting flour out from her fur, “Chief Ah’killes said your grandmother offered to teach her a bit of baking. What’s wrong with that?”

Kas’tor bunched up, their tail puffing out, “Nothing! I just don’t like people mucking about when there is work to be done!” 

“Whatever, c’mon Catra, let’s go meet the Prince, he said that he wanted to show off some magic trick,” the Magicat was torn, she told Hes’tia she would stay until the 3rd mark. Usually, the teenager would bolt at getting out of any sort of work. But she kinda liked it here, making stuff; it reminded her of when she sketched, molding something new under her hand. The ache in her biceps was a clean hurt, one that seemed to move the funky voices out of her head and drown out the worried anxious thoughts about well... everything.

“Just go, I’ll tell grandmother that you got summoned by the Prince,” Kas’tor waved her off, their mouth downturns, “this was only a passing fancy for you anyway.”

Catra placed the apron on the rack, feeling if anything a little crestfallen. She’d gotten kicked out of the stall for doing nothing wrong. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, but as Tha’lya wrapped a thick arm around her shoulder, she perked up again and purred. Though she wouldn't verbally admit it, she had missed the other two while they were gone, but as usual her body betrayed her. Tha’lya looked down at her, adequately amazed by the feeling, while Nii’kola nearly tripped over her feet when she heard it, ears on a swivel. 

“Happy to see us, Scrapper?” Tha’lya’s bulk moved them quickly through the crowded market.

“Yeah, I guess, don’t get your hopes up.” Catra pushed at Tha’lya’s arm, “Happier to see Token than you, Snowball.” Nii’kola brushed her hand against her chest.

“Aww, you do care, that’s so cute,” Tha’lya rubbed at the back of her head, hand getting tangled up in her mane. “Fuck Scrapper, when was the last time you cut this mess,” she held the curls up in her palm. To be fair, Catra less got it willingly cut than had to shorn when she didn’t manage to evade the Force Captains enough.

“Couple years, maybe three,” it had grown long, thick, nearly unmanageable, but it was hers. Adora could only dream of getting her hair this long, and Lonnie had always scoffed at how easy it was to grab. 

“We gotta get you to a stylist, you have so much, and it’s so curly!” Nii’kola tugged on a stray ringlet that was starting to form under her ear, where it usually matted. After the cadets cut her mane the first time, it began to grow long, heavy, and dense under the weight of the thick strands. It knotted, became brittle; only Adora enjoyed her hair, petting it when they were young, and when they got older tugging on it playfully. Everyone else balked at touching it even in a fight. Long hair was so rare in the Horde due to how hard the upkeep was—keeping it long as a combat cadet was a liability. It was a challenge to wear your hair long and undone, and people had been trying to use Catra’s hair against her for years in their matchups. No one succeeded. Anyone who did beat her did it on pure strength alone until they couldn’t think themselves out of whatever box Catra had put them into. 

“I don’t want it cut.” she finally got out; her hair was hers. It wasn’t just cause it was connected to her head. It was a challenge, a show of force, and just about one of the only things in the Horde that genuinely belonged to her. 

“Alright,” Nii’kola’s voice softened, “we don’t have to cut it. I’m just saying trim it, give it some shape, we can have a stylist show you how to take care of it better. I know you’ve been using the conditioners and soaps,” what a stunning revelation _those_ had been, “but they can recommend you stuff that would make it even softer and easier to handle.”

“Oh,” Catra continued her walk, watching the red dust coat the tops of her feet, “maybe?”

“We’ll talk about it later. Let’s get up to the Palace and see what weird magic trick Hek’tor learned.”

“Hopefully, he’ll just blow himself up again and get yelled at by the Queen. That was funny the other day.” Catra still didn’t like the magic being near her, but watching Hek’tor fuck up all sorts of things was hilarious, even if she did it from a perch twenty feet above his head. 

“Yeah, Queen Art’ymis is always afraid Hek’tor is gonna pull the city even more underground cause he keeps fucking around with the Opal.”

“He can use it right,” Catra lifted her head to the Opal, which was hummed pleasantly in her head, “I mean his magic seems strong,” probably enough to hold his own for a bit in a fight with Shadow Weaver, not that she wanted him to meet her guardian anytime soon.

“Only the Queen can truly wield the Opal, but,” Tha’lya lowered her voice and titled her mouth closer to Catra’s ear, “Grandfather says that since the Queen sunk the city below the ground that she can hardly use the Opal at all.” Catra blinked.

“It was like a magical overload for her,” She’d seen Weaver do it, hop herself too full with Black Garnet juice, then go on the fritz for a few days. Those were the best days to get out exploring with Adora when Shadow Weaver couldn’t punish her with electricity, just usual routine beatings when they got caught. 

Tha’lya nodded as they reached the Palace doors, “Don’t mention it to anyone,” they swung open with a great heave, “we don’t want anyone panicked about the safety of Halfmoon.” They were all ushered in as Catra mulled it over, staring up at the Opal. 

*******

**Halfmoon; Medical Infirmary**

Her head felt so light, Catra once again tossed her head from side to side, enjoying the freedom of her mane tamed for once. It had taken a week after the other’s return from topside for them to get Catra into a hair shop. Three magicat’s tutted over her fur and mane for half a mark until they began to ask all sorts of questions-- her curl pattern, fur pattern, highlights, and greasiness. It was a tolling experience, but eventually, a sweet one, the smallest, closer to Catra’s height, turned her around in their weird spinny chair and clasped her hands onto her shoulders.

“Hair is all about control, ya know,” her voice creaked and dripped like the honey Hes’tia used on cakes, “you control how it looks, how feels, how people see it. How do you want people to see your hair?”

Catra thought it over. Tha’lay wore her hair in a shaggy dark grey cut, jagged and sharp like her personality. Nii’kola’s was always pulled into thick braids and adorned with tiny beads and sometimes even feathers, a far more subtle way of showing off. Li’nus’ mane was kept neat and shorn to the sides, only the top getting any kind of length. It made sense he was in the medical field; it needed to be practical and out of the way. Hek’tors mane was flamboyant, overly curly, and flopping over his forehead and face making him look so young; the runes that Catra knew now were burned into his skin, fur shorn down so people could see him and know he was powerful. Hek’tor’s hair was a show of force. Catra wanted hers to be what it always was-- a shield.

So Catra had left, several inches were taken off the bottom, shaved up the sides and along the nape of her neck, she got the stylist to show her how to braid, and a thin braid staring just below her ear marched along the shorn edge. The Stylist warned that it would take upkeep to keep the sides and back even, but Catra was too enamored with how it looked. It was shiny, dark, and heavy with curls; it was like her entire body lifted a little, and even now, she couldn’t help playing with it. Nii’kola was entranced, pulling on it and smiling. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Li’nus huffed from the chair he was squishing beneath his bulk. Catra smiled and only flipped her hair around. “One haircut and you don’t know how to act, typical.”

Catra huffed and crossed her arms, “Are you clearing me for training for not Doc?” Li’nus twitched before pulling out a thick folder, “What’s that? All your best jokes or something.” Li’nus dropped it on the small table between them. It made a small thud and nearly knocked the coffee Catra brought him after she worked at the stall today.

“This," he jabbed his finger into the stack, "is everything I know about your injuries and pains thus far, and I know we are far from over.” Catra flinched; that was a lot of paper, “I know you probably aren’t ready to share about your medical history, or even why you got here,” no, not that, never that. “But it’s important I know the worst things that are bothering you. The only way I’m clearing you to train is if you tell me exactly what hurts you the most, where, and that’s all. I don’t need a why, I don’t need an explanation, I just want you to get better.”

Catra ground her teeth, fangs nicking on the inside of her cheek. Li’nus didn’t want to push her, she’d been here for nearly a month, and no one had driven her to talk. Not from the Queen to the smartass baker she sometimes helped out. 

“What if I can’t get better?” Catra’s hands flexed. She could feel the ache there, the way her tendons tightened and mismatched bones creaked, “What if you can’t heal me, and you never clear me for training.” What if Catra couldn’t pay back Halfmoon for giving her back her life, the life that the Horde stole. What would she do then? Just be a strategist, safe in Halfmoon while Tha’lya risked her life as she lounged in the library? Eat pastries all day while Nii'kola scavenged their boundaries risking capture? It seemed unthinkable. She couldn’t abide by that. Catra wasn’t a coward, she may not bulldoze her way through like Adora did, but she never backed down from a challenge. 

“Catra, I don’t have any indication that you are beyond help, you’re young, and despite all your injuries, you are healthy and capable. There is no reason some medicine, a good diet, maybe a little bit of healing magic,” she glared at him, “can’t get your condition to fighting level. I’m not going to promise a miracle,” Li’nus leaned back in his chair, squeezing the bridge of his nose, “Saz knows you’re a walking miracle by just being here, bless Her luck. But I am going to promise you that most of the hurts can and will go away with some attention and care.”

Catra curled a little in on herself. The sterile room was bearing down on her; Li’nus steady gaze kept her from bolting outright. Her feet knocked against the oddly slick floor as the mark keeper chimed above his head. 

“What do I need to do?”

“Tell me where it hurts, on a scale of one to ten.”

“Ten,” she croaked finally.

Li’nus leaned forward, eyes bright and piercings, “Where?”

Catra could only smile, tight, fangs showing, “Everywhere.”

He sighed, leaned back, “I figured. I’ll get you in with a full-body physical therapist. Just tell me where it’s the worst. You can circle parts on this paper if you don’t want to move,” he handed her a clipboard, and Catra pulled out a pencil from the pocket of her pants and went to circling. Her hips, a ten. Her left leg, a ten. Both hands, eights. Her head, constant headaches she printed out, and a 9. Her left side ribcage, an 8. Until finally, the representation of her body was circled, neat, and tidy. Li’nus looked it over and nodded.

“Alright. Listen, I’m going to get a PT in here; they will show you some stretching, and then we’ll schedule weekly PT for you." He took out a form, his pencil scratching as he filled in lines and bubbles. "I’m going to clear you for training once you learn your stretches. Your wrist is all cleared up, and I know that you’ll be diligent about taking care of your body. Otherwise, I will pull you from the field.” Catra nodded, and the doctor smiled. 

Catra hopped off the chair, her spine cracking into place as each vertebra popped with every stretch of her arms. Li’nus grinned before flopping his wrist, the sharp crack scaring Catra enough to send her toppling over the chair. The PT found them cackling together on the floor; the sounds echoing around the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have effectively time-skipped this to a month. Catra's medical appointment coincides with Adora at Salinaes & finding out Catra is (not) dead. Coming to an end of the Halfmoon Arc, I'm thinking now this will probably be like 23-27 chapters depending on length & what fat from Season 1 I cut out. Hopefully, I can get half knocked out by the new year and the other half done before Jan 15, otherwise, y'all won't see me update this until June lmao. Anyway enjoy some exposition on Catra hanging out in Halfmoon, we'll get more interesting next time. 
> 
> also, Catra is emotional about her hair, cause I'm emotional about my hair, I projected that I admit it.


	6. interlude: wake up to the cold reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glimmer gets some not great Advice from the Queen. Adora waxes poetic. Something astounding happens

*******

**Brightmoon Palace**

The hallway was silent, which Glimmer supposed was better than the hiccuping sobs she heard from Adora's rooms interrupted only by her frantic planning on storming the Fright Zone alone. For the first time since meeting Adora, Glimmer was unsure if allowing her to continue fighting the Horde was such a good thing. Her mother insisted that Adora see a mental specialist, but that had only come with a wave of confusion in explaining _what_ mental health was.

All in All, Glimmer was tired. It had been two weeks since the Battle at the Sea Gate. Adora had been inconsolable from the moment of her breakdown; even Mermista showed genuine concern for the Horde defector. All Glimmer could get was that one of Adora's friends had died after Adora left, and somehow it was _Adora's_ fault. Glimmer had to admit; she couldn't wrap her mind around how that worked out in whatever Horde Scum decided to break the news to Adora. 

Mom had been woefully unhelpful with Adora. They had sat in her parlor, playing (Glimmer _losing)_ in a game of Capture the King, both drinking quietly as they moved the pieces across the board. Glimmer in fast offensive movements, Angella in plodding methodical placements. 

"I don't understand," Glimmer had finally said, "why would she think it's _her_ fault that Catra died?" She moved a mounted archer against her Mom's Calvary blockade. "I mean, I know she's upset and mourning. But she's so..." Glimmer sighed, running a hand through her roused lavender locks, "inconsolable, and obsessed with her plans."

Angella had been quiet, her eyes scanning the board, "You moved your archer against my Calvary, why?"

Glimmer frowned, "I'm losing; if I can even break a little of your blockade, then I still have a fighting chance."

"So you would say it's a desperate move, to sacrifice your archer? Despite its tactical advantages?" Angella paused as she fingered her King, thoughtfully running a slim finger over its crown. "Breaking the blockade is more important than a single life?"

Glimmer frowned, staring back down at the gold and blue board, filled with pieces all in varying tactical spaces, but the blockade haunted her ever since it took her Beast Master. 

"I just wanted some revenge, I guess," Glimmer finally sighed, "I know I'm gonna lose, but I wanna go down swinging."

"So you would take petty revenge in a simple board game, over a simple defeat if a single member of your army, in the comfort of your home?" Angella picked up a ship, moving it into a cove where Glimmer had a series of magicians posted around one of her main cities. "Yet, you wonder how Adora, a girl who grew up a child soldier, would feel such revenge for someone she loved," Angella placed the ship in the cove, "and lost. She defected, and didn't bring her friend with her, didn't even go back for her. Then she finds out that her friend is dead; it may not be directly because of her defection. But Adora still left someone vulnerable with the Horde." Angella watched as Glimmer eyed the ship. "Adora feels guilt and is mourning Glimmer," the Queen tapped her King, frowning, "you need to be gentle with her."

Glimmer was silent as she moved a magician and several knights alongside her archer. "She keeps saying that it _is_ her fault, and Mom, from everything Adora said about the Horde, about how the Horde treats their kids," she finished her support move. "Adora really thinks she got her killed."

Angella moved another ship into the cove, frowning, "Maybe it is."

Glimmer's mouth popped open, forgetting the game entirely. "How could you say that, Mom! Adora defected. She didn't do anything wrong! She joined the right side."

"Of course she did, Glimmer! She did something right, she left, but she left alone. She left anyone who might've cared for her behind, and they might've suffered the consequences. The Horde is cruel. To avoid dissenters in their ranks, do you honestly think wannabe defectors would risk someone dying because they left. The Horde doesn't care about canon fodder," Angella moved again, the third ship and fired, "they only care about winning, at any cost. And if that cost is stopping other wannabe defectors by killing a few of their own to make a point. I wouldn't be surprised." 

Glimmer watched as her Mom took the magicians, and the city, then watched as she picked up her King. Turning it over thoughtfully in her palm, the princess frowned.

"The Horde has been ahead of us in strategy for years. We play the game, reset the board, and every day we lose ground, Glimmer. They are ruthless, uncaring, and have the advantage that we are not united and spread thin." The Queen swept her hand across the board as it reset itself, "Focus less on one image and search for every advantage. Adora is vengeful? Use it. Use that pain, and it may sound cruel because she is your friend. But she is also an asset. This is a war Glimmer," Angella moved the Beast Master again, and her pack of animals, "make your move."

So Glimmer had decided to listen to her Mom. Contrary to popular belief, Glimmer could be reasoned with and could understand when something obvious was being swung at her head. The Queen had all but ordered her to use Adora’s grief and mold it into something that could become a weapon, which is how Glimmer found herself outside of Adora’s door, which was suspiciously quiet, knocking gently as she heard a hoarse:

“Come in.”

The room was messy; a blanket moved to the floor along with the flattest pillow Glimmer had ever seen. The walls were pasted with maps of stolen Horde territory. There were strings and tacks pressed in, along with long dedicated lists to series of names that Glimmer had never seen. Studying the wall, Glimmer could see the numbers of Horde soldiers, squadrons, battalions, estimated amounts of weapons and supplies. She pale; why hadn’t the Horde crushed them yet? Why had they been wasting resources? This army could level Brightmoon with their hands tied behind their backs. There was a missing piece to this puzzle. However, the Rebellion had been picking away at the Horde for years. There were whole swathes of Etheria dominated by the Horde, kingdoms halfway across the world that had never so much as been touched. Why were they so focused on this half of the planet? Glimmer continued walking along the wall, her fingers brushing over maps and whole battleplans scribbled in Adora’s’ messy print.

“Sorry, it’s not enough,” Glimmer shrieked as she looked wildly around the room. The floor and desk were empty, and there was no closet. There was a tiny chuckle, “Up here.” Glimmer craned her head back. The rafters of the room were like the rest of the room, made of a colored metal, thick beams that could easily support Adora, curled into a ball at the center of a pair of thick crossbeams. Within a blink of an eye, Glimmer had teleported beside her, straddling the beam and bracing herself on the center, palms pressed flat over the center.

“What are you doing up here?” Every day she’d seen Adora, her still intact, Horde uniform starched even as she curled around her knees, arms tightening around her shins.

"Whenever Catra got overwhelmed, she'd go to the pipes," Adora flexed her hands, "sometimes she'd be up there for hours. Or Shadow Weaver would come and get her," nails dug into the thick padding of her cadet pants, "I would always beg her to come down before that happened ya know? Before Shadow Weaver forced her. So I learned to climb after her; we’d climb so high that they couldn't find us for hours. It helped her think it was the one place she usually safe from everyone."

"Oh," Glimmer swung her feet, "sometimes I sit in the library. It was my Dad's favorite part of the castle. When I was tiny, before I could remember, he would sit with me and read. So I go there sometimes, to think."

Adora didn't say anything, just buried her face into her knees, deep unsteady choking sobs made her back tremble. Glimmer passed a hand over her back; every bit of Adora was hard as steel, all muscle and tense focus. 

"It's why I want to win the War so bad. I don't want anyone else's Dad to be gone, and I want my Mom to really smile again and not be so scared." Glimmer rubbed her palms together, nervous about showing her hand.

"Catra used to be scared," Adora mumbled, "I didn't get it. She would always balk at the Horde's rules; she was brilliant, the fastest in our division. It didn't matter how many times they tried to break her to be like a normal soldier; she resisted them." Adora sighed, unfurling a little to wipe at her red-rimmed eyes. "Catra should have ranked first, she should have been Force Captain, but Shadow Weaver chose me."

"Fuck Shadow Weaver," Glimmer wished for all her might that she wasn't going to do this, but her Mom was right; she needed Adora (and She-Ra) at full capacity. If Catra was going to be Glimmer's Micah, then Adora needed to feel that violent twisting hate and do whatever it takes to _win._ "Tell me about Catra, tell me everything good you know about her." Tell Glimmer what exactly made a single girl so special as to jeopardize the Rebellion's weapon.

Adora moved, lying atop the beam in a movement that made Glimmer terrified. 

"She had this laugh; it squeaked when she got excited. Catra hated water; every time we had to train in it, the officers had to throw her in. She was always stealing contraband and falling asleep during classes, she was always late, and never took anything the officers said seriously. But she could think our squad out of the box; it didn't matter how hopeless the simulation got Catra could always pull us through it with some quick plan or fast thinking." Adora smiled, tucking her cheek onto her hand, "Rogelio used to have to hold her back. She was always getting into some fight when I wasn't around, or even _when_ I was around; she would scrap. Rogelio would just pick her up with his jaws and tout her from the room.” Adora giggled, rubbing at her watering eyes, “She hated when he did that. He said it was payback for when we were small, and she used to carry him around in her jaws.” Glimmer looks slightly startled, but Adora moves on without even noticing Glimmer’s confusion. “Sometimes, she would get into fights with Force Captains. She tore out Octavia's eye when we were kids--"

"She tore someone's eye out?" Glimmer choked, paying, "Why would she--"

"Catra was small, and she cried. A Lot. So she fought and scared people so they would stop pulling her tail or petting her ears. Octavia always hated cry babies, like Catra,” Adora hummed to herself, “she grabbed her wrong, by the tail, and grabbing cats by their tail is a bad idea--”

“Wait, Catra is a cat? What like a magicat?” Glimmer blinked. She had met Magicat’s before. They were a large hybrid population to the South of Brightmoon bordering along with the Crimson Waste; they were a mostly nomadic people caravans of Magicat’s clan that wandered all over Etheria. Halfmoon’s city was destroyed a little over 17 years ago. Their princess was kidnapped, and many of the Magicat babies had been stolen by the Horde. Though the Magicats had managed to pull through a recovery mission, their princess and around 100 others were never found, presumed swallowed by the Horde.

“She’s a cat hybrid; she’s got these pretty gold and blue eyes, these cute stripes on her arms and legs.” Adora smiled fondly, “She kept her claws long, you wouldn’t believe it, she could cut through steel with them. She is... she was amazing.” Adora buried her face into her knees, letting out another sharp sob. “She was so fast and strong, and even when Shadow Weaver and the other officers came down on her, she bounced back. She would prove them wrong, every single day.” Catra pushed her Adora’s only competition in the whole division. “She was my hero.”

“She’s a magicat...” Glimmer hummed, mouth downturned; there were legends about Magicat’s about their abilities. They were natural sorcerers, natural warriors who were only outclassed by the Scorpioni in natural prowess. But there was something else, “Adora, had Catra ever been so hurt that you thought she would never come back from it?”

Adora blinked and frowned, “She cracked her spine once...” she could remember that day so clearly. They were doing the ropes courses with another squadron, and the guy on that squad couldn’t stand Catra. He was always leering and trying to push her around. Catra broke his wrist when he tried to corner her, which had sprung into an all-out brawl. They won, surprisingly enough, they were an older squad, faster, better trained. Shadow Weaver and their Force Captain decided for the dispute that both units were going to do the ropes course until they said stop.

It Hour 5. Kyle was trembling as he crawled across the rope, Rogelio doing his best to keep them pushing. Lonnie was covered in sweat, and Adora was similarly struggling. Catra was still moving fast, despite her bruises from the brawl. The opposite squad was tiring but not quite at the level, they were. That’s when Catra moved, leaping to a platform and knocking right into the lizardfolk girl that was crouched there. Adora could see it in her mind’s eye; she could see when Catra stumbled when the other girl struck, her fist cracking right into her sternum. She could see Catra’s arms pinwheeling as Adora began to run and leaped, grasping the rope in front of her to try and catch her from below. She had no idea why she thought it would work. But Catra saw her, eyes wide, panicked as her foot slipped the edge.

Adora could only watch Catra sailing down past her, her free hand trying to grasp for anything her fur, her tail, her hair, anything. But she kept going.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Then she landed, it was a sick splat, and Adora had followed down. Everyone huddled around her, blood was seeping from her cracked arm, and the angel of her back... it shouldn’t be doing that.

Kyle was crying, Lonnie’s nails were digging into her hand while Rogelio, still just 13 and not as big as he would be, was shivering off bits of his molting. Shadow Weaver swept behind them, her shadows gathering the catgirl up. Her chest was rising and falling just barely. 

They sent the squad back to the dorms.

Catra came back the next day, limping, her entire body curled around herself. It was the only time Catra had ever been excused from training due to injury. Shadow Weaver sent her to strength training for the week, and Catra had extra rations.

The other squad was missing a lizardfolk girl.

Catra kept her mouth shut on what had happened; she only muttered that they put her in some experimental medical treatment. She didn’t remember anything past hitting the ground. She couldn’t even recount her injuries. It took a week to get back to fighting form; everyone shrugged it off. They’d seen Catra bounce back from some truly unique injuries, seen other cadets too as well. Adora had cracked her skull twice and was back in the training rooms two weeks later. It wasn’t unheard of... right?

“She cracked her spine,” Glimmer shivered, “Adora, she shouldn’t be walking. When was this?”

“Three... four years ago?” Adora mumbled, “I saw her stop breathing when they took her away, but she came back the next day.”

“Adora,” Glimmer began gently, “Catra died... You cannot survive dropping from that height, cracked spine, cat, or no.” 

Adora let out a long breath, “She didn’t die; she was just hurt.”

Glimmer hummed and reached over to run her fingers through Adora’s tight ponytail, hair thick and clinging to the static of Glimmer’s everpresent magic. “Magicat’s are a culture that has existed for as long as we have. They are the Scarlet Opal guardians, the fire elemental. They have ruled the Southern jungles and deserts for thousands of years. But, they also have a legend around them. The Magicat’s have nine lives.”

Adora blink before laughing, “They have what?”

“Nine lives!” Glimmer shook her head, “I know it sounds absolutely crazy. But the Magicats are rumored to have nine lives. If they die an unnatural or untimely death, they return to life. Ask my Mom; she said she knew that the Queen of the Magicats had died at least four times before Halfmoon was destroyed.”

Adora snorted, shaking her head, “If that’s true, then why are the Magicat’s all gone? How did the Horde destroy their city?”

“Well, you have to have a body to return to? If the Horde destroyed the cities and the bodies of the magicat’s, then they’d die off. But Adora, they aren’t gone.” Glimmer sighed, rolling her eyes, “Far from it, they exist nomadically, Halfmoon was their base, but Magicat’s roamed all of Etheria in Clan Caravans or bands. They come to Brightmoon sometimes selling goods from all over the world; they have some kind of trading deal with Dryl and take Princess Entrapta stolen and scavenged Horde weaponry.” Adora seemed to pale before blinking.

“Catra had people out there for her...”

“Of course she did! All the Horde does is raid towns and steal their children for their armies. Catra was unlucky,” and now she was dead, supposedly, but if the Horde was as harsh as Glimmer thought, who knows what life the girl was on when they murdered her.

“Shadow Weaver always said that they left her in the scrapyard. I found her in a crate when we were kids; I named her.”

“You named a cat kid Catra?” Glimmer giggled, “That’s so stupid!”

Adora shoved at Glimmer, threatening to knock her off the beam, “Cat-rah, Ador-ah, it made perfect sense. I was like 3 or 4, alright.”

“Do you even know how old you are?”

“Nineteen, I think. Catra was a little younger, closer to sixteen or seventeen; we aren’t sure. She was always on the small side.” Though Shadow Weaver was fond of starvation as a discipline method, not that Adora had ever been on the receiving end of that punishment. The blonde could feel her chest tighten; she remembered when Catra would climb, higher and higher up into the rafters of the Fright Zone where even Adora couldn’t reach. How the magicat curled around her stomach until Shadow Weaver tossed her a brown ration bar on the floor, then Catra would pounce after it. How Shadow Weaver would coo what a good pet she was while Catra crunched on the ration bar, tearing into the wrapper with sharp canines after days without anything but water and crumbs of ration bars from the squad. Adora once stole food for her; Shadow Weaver added another two days onto Catra’s punishment, which quickly stopped. Adora would watch as Catra would stand on the scale during fitness tests, her ribs peaking through her dense fur, the odd lightning scars that trailed over her chest where fine fur didn’t grow more than an inch, and where more extensive scars left hairless marks. Catra was small, yet so fierce, larger than life itself.

Glimmer scooted closer, placing her warm, open palm on Adora’s arm, “Hey.” Adora startled, not even realizing that tears were streaming down her face, leaking into the collar of her shirt where they dried uncomfortably against the thick fabric. “I know Catra is gone,” Adora let out the smallest of hiccups, “but we can do something for her,” Glimmer’s hand tightened, a fanatic gleam in her eye, “we can cleave the Horde apart, and Shadow Weaver will pay for what she did to her, to both of you.” Adora lifted her eyes, that steady alien blue. “The Horde will be crushed beneath us, we have you, and She-Ra, and we will rebuild the Princess Alliance and take back our homeland. For Catra.”

Adora smiled, “For Catra.” she tucked her head into Glimmer’s shoulder, who petted at the flyaways in her ponytail and loosened the starch jacket on Adora’s figure. 

“C’mon Bruiser, let’s put your room in order and get us a real planning space.” Adora rubbed at her eyes before leaping from the beam. Glimmer screeched at the impromptu jump and teleported after her in a shower of sparkles. Adora was crouched on the floor, not unlike a cat, and arched her back high. “What the fuck, Adora?”

The teenager blinked, “What I needed to get down.”

“You could have broken a leg!”

Adora shrugged, “It’s how Catra taught me to jump down.”

“You’re not a magicat, Adora!” Glimmer laughed and helped push Adora out the door, already talking about heading planning some Horde outpost attacks. Both were stopped by a message, a little faun person who looked out of breath as he handed Glimmer a blank envelope stamped with a mushroom seal.

“News from the War Front Princess,” the faun took a steadying breath, “someone just eviscerated one of the Horde fortresses near Plumeria.”

Glimmer blinked and tore open the letter, “What!” It was all there in printed letters; someone had killed every Horde officer in the camp, blow the place to bits, and left the Horde Captain in charge waving like some sick banner on the front gates, torn to ribbons and a clear declaration of war. Some new faction? The Rebellion had seen splinter groups before after the first Alliance fell. They had made some progress on keeping the Horde at bay, but never to destroy a fortress. 

"The Fifth Reach Cliff Fortress?" Adora snatched the letter from Glimmer's hand, going over it, brows furrowing, "That's a very fortified fortress, headed by a seasoned Force Captain, and they took it out?" Adora knew the place had its weaknesses, thought fireproof it did not have great air cover, nor was it impervious to a several flanked attack since the fortress had one way in and out, the front gate. It was well stocked and well maintained. "The only way they'd get caught off guard is if they didn't get their monthly supply line, the soldiers would be hungry and the fortress without water." A hungry army did sloppy work. "Someone would have had to intercept a supply line? Has the Alliance done anything like that recently?"

"We got reports that there was a skirmish along with one of the Horde occupied trade routes, but that happens a lot as winter approached. It was nothing serious to look into." Adora blinked.

"The Western Pass trade route?"

Glimmer frowned, "How did you--"

"That's the trade route that the Fifth Reach Cliff Fortress got their supply chain from." Adora tapped her finger on the letter, "Which means someone is studying their movements, intercepted the supply line, waited them out for a few weeks, and continued to hary the trade route to prevent anything going in. Then went in and attacked the fortress at their weakness, with airborne attacks to destroy the fortress then pick them off like rats when they came through the front gates. It's quite the plan. Force Captain Howler was a great fighter, shitty strategist though, he was facing someone much smarter than him."

"Or someone who knew the Horde's weak points--"

"A defector!" the pair exclaimed, Adora blinked.

"We haven't had a defector in years, at least not a successful venture that didn't end in pubic execution." 

"Or we have someone who is seriously studying the Horde's patterns and going for their jugular. Either way, whoever this is," Glimmer wiggled the paper, "is a friend of mine. We'll have to try and make contact." Adora nodded and began to pace the hallway, the sharp tap-tap-clack of her boots echoing as Glimmer read about the gruesome scene. 

"Who uses magic?" Adora asked suddenly.

"Princesses, magicians from Mystacore, the Magicats, some outlying species across Etheria, but not to this extent."

"The Horde is planned for magical attacks from a princess, and these aren't bombs from what is being described, they are simple grenades and airborne magical attacks, I am sure."

"Someone is using magic?"

"It's just a theory." Adora tapped her jaw, "But if the magicat's do exist, and they are still numerous, they scavenger Horde's weapons and suffered from them. Then they would have a reason for such an attack." Glimmer nodded.

"Yes, I suppose they would."

"Can you get into contact with them?"

Glimmer grinned, "I can do you one better, I know of a trader coming to Brightmoon soon, and if anyone knows about a declaration of war it's gonna be Nii'kola, the girl has a hundred friends and associates across Etheria." 

"Let's meet her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAO I return much later with iced coffee.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to Catra finding Magicat's and becoming a princess, it's so cliche it makes my own teeth rot. It'll end happy.


End file.
